HELEN   REDEEMED 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


HELEN  REDEEMED 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

MAURICE   HEWLETT 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
'913 


COPYRIGHT 


DEDICATION 


LOVE  owes  tribute  unto  Death, 
Being  but  a  flower  of  breath, 
Ev'n  as  thy  fair  body  is 
Moment's  figure  of  the  bliss 
Dwelling  in  the  mind  of  God 
When  He  called  thee  from  the  sod, 
Like  a  crocus  up  to  start, 
Gray-eyed  with  a  golden  heart, 
Out  of  earth,  and  point  our  sight 
To  thy  eternal  home  of  light. 

Here  on  earth  is  all  we  know  : 
To  let  our  love  as  steadfast  blow, 
Open-hearted  to  the  sun, 
Folded  down  when  our  day's  done, 
As  thy  flower  that  bids  it  be 
Flower  of  thy  charity. 
'Tis  not  ours  to  boast  or  pray 
Breath  from  us  shall  outlive  clay  5 
'Tis  not  thine,  thou  Pitiful, 
Set  me  task  beyond  my  rule. 

Yet  as  young  men  carve  on  trees 

Lovely  names,  and  find  in  these 

Solace  in  the  after  time, 

So  to  have  hid  thee  in  my  rhyme 

Shall  be  comfort  when  I  take 

The  lonely  road.     Then,  for  my  sake, 

Keep  thou  this  my  graven  sigh, 

And,  that  I  may  not  all  die, 

Open  it,  and  hear  it  tell, 

Here  was  one  who  loved  thee  well. 


October  6,  1912. 


259878 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

HELEN  REDEEMED    ......  i 

HYPSIPYLE       .         .         .         .         .         .         .123 

OREITHYIA 149 

CLYTIE" .        155 

LAI  OF  GOBERTZ      ...  159 

THE  SAINTS'   MAYING        .          .          .          .          .        169 
THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN        .         .         .         .         .173 

GNATHO 187 

To  THE  GODS  OF  THE  COUNTRY       .         .  193 

FOURTEEN  SONNETS — 

ALMA  SDEGNOSA  .  .  .  .  .197 
THE  WINDS'  POSSESSION  .  .  .  .198 
ASPETTO  REALE  .  .  .  .199 

KIN  CONFESSED          .....        200 

<J)UEL    GIORNO    PIl)    ....  .  .  .  2O I 

ABSENCE  .......  202 

PRESENCE 203 

DREAM  ANGUISH       .....  204 

HYMNIA-BEATRIX 206 

Lux  E  TENEBRIS       .....  207 

DUTY 208 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PACK 

WAGES 209 

EYE-SERVICE     .         .         .         .         .         .210 

CLOISTER  THOUGHTS          .         .         .         .211 

THE  CHAMBER  IDYLL       .         .         .         .         .213 

EPIGRAMMATA — 

THE  OLD  HOUSE 217 

BLUE  IRIS         .         .         .         .         .         .217 

THE  ROSEBUD 218 

SPRING  ON  THE  DOWN       .         .         .         .218 

SNOWY  NIGHT 219 

EVENING  MOOD 219 

THE  PARTING 220 

DEDICATION  OF  A  BOOK    .  .  221 


NOTE 

THREE  of  the  Poems  here  published  have 
appeared  in  book  form  already,  in  the 
Volume  called  Songs  and  Meditations, 
long  out  of  print. 


HELEN  REDEEMED 
PROEM 

SING  of  the  end  of  Troy,  and  of  that  flood 

Of  passion  by  the  blood 

Of  heroes  consecrate,  by  poet's  craft 

Hallowed,  if  that  thin  waft 

Of  godhead  blown  upon  thee  stretch  thy  song 

To  span  such  store  of  strong 

And  splendid  vision  of  immortal  themes 

Late  harvested  in  dreams, 

Albeit  long  years  laid    up  in   tilth.      Most 

meet 

Thou  sing  that  slim  and  sweet 
Fair  woman  for  whose  bosom  and  delight 
Paris,  as  well  he  might, 

Wrought  all  the  woe,  and  held  her  to  his  cost 
And  Troy's,  and  won  and  lost 
Perforce  ;  for  who  could  look  on  her  or  feel 
Her  near  and  not  dare  steal 
One  hour  of  her,  or  hope  to  hold  in  bars 
Such  wonder  of  the  stars 
Undimmed  ?    As  soon  expect  to  cage  the  rose 

I  B 


2  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Of  dawn  which  comes  and  goes 

Fitful,  or  leash  the  shadows  of  the  hills, 

Or  music  of  upland  rills 

As  Helen's  beauty  and  not  tarnish  it 

With  thy  poor  market  wit, 

Adept  to  hue  the  wanton  in  the  wild, 

Defile  the  undefiled ! 

Yet  by  the  oath  thou  swearedst,  standing  high 

Where  piled  rocks  testify 

The  holy  dust,  and  from  Therapnai's  hold 

Over  the  rippling  wold 

Didst  look  upon  Amyklai's,  where  sunrise 

First  dawned  in  Helen's  eyes, 

Take  up  thy  tale,  good  poet,  strain  thine  art 

To  sing  her  rendered  heart, 

Given  last  to  him  who  loved  her  first,  nor 

swerved 

From  loving,  but  was  nerved 
To  see  through  years  of  robbery  and  shame 
Her  spirit,  a  clear  flame, 
Eloquent  of  her  birthright.     Tell  his  peace, 
And  hers  who  at  last  found  ease 
In  white-arm'd  Here,  holy  husbander 
Of  purer  fire  than  e'er 
To  wife  gave   Kypris.     Helen,  and  Thee  I 

sing 

In  whom  her  beauties  ring, 
Fair  body  of  fair  mind  fair  acolyte, 
Star  of  my  day  and  night ! 

i%th  September  1912. 


FIRST  STAVE 

THE    DEATH    OF    ACHILLES 

WHERE  Simoeis  and  Xanthos,  holy  streams, 
Flow   brimming    on    the   level,    and    chance 

gleams 

Betray  far  Ida  through  a  rended  cloud 
And   hint  the   awful   home  of  Zeus,   whose 

shroud 

The  thunder  is — 'twixt  Ida  and  the  main 
Behold  gray  Ilios,  Priam's  fee,  the  plain 
About  her  like  a  carpet  ;  from  whose  height 
The    watchman,    ten    years    watching,   every 

night 

Counteth  the  beacon  fires  and  sees  no  less 
Their  number  as  the  years  wax  and  duress 
Of  hunger  thins  the  townsmen  day  by  day — 
More  than  the  Greeks  kill  plague  and  famine 

slay. 
Here  in   their  wind-swept  city,  ten  long 

years 

Beset  and  in  this  tenth  in  blood  and  tears 
And  havocry  to  fall,  old  Priam's  sons 


4  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Guard  still  their  gods,  their  wives  and  little 

ones, 

Guard  Helen  still,  for  whose  fair  womanhood 
The  sin  was  done,  woe  wrought,  and  all  the 

blood 

Of  Danaan  and  Dardan  in  their  pride 
Shed  ;  nor  yet  so  the  end,  for  Here  cried 
Shrill    on   the    heights    more    vengeance    on 

wrong  done, 

And  Greek  or  Trojan  paid  it.     Late  or  soon 
By  sword  or  bitter  arrow  they  went  hence, 
Each  with  their  goodliest  paying  one  man's 

offence. 

Goodliest  in  Troy  fell  Hector  ;  back  to  Greek 
Then  swung  the  doomstroke,  and  to  Dis  the 

bleak 
Must  pass  great  Hector's  slayer.     Zeus  on 

high, 
Hidden  from  men,  held  up  the  scales  ;  the 

sky 

Told  Thetis  that  her  son  must  go  the  way 
He  sent  Queen  Hecuba's — himself  must  pay, 
Himself  though  young,  splendid  Achilles'  self, 
The  price  of  manslaying,  with  blood  for  pelf. 
A  grief  immortal  took  her,  and  she  grieved 
Deep  in  sea-cave,  whereover  restless  heaved 
The  wine-dark  ocean — silently,  not  moving, 
Tearless,  a  god.     O  Gods,  however  loving, 
That  is  a  lonely  grief  that  must  go  dry 
About  the  graves  where  the  beloved  lie, 
And  knows  too  much  to  doubt  if  death  ends  all 


HELEN  REDEEMED  5 

Pleasure  in  strength  of  limb,  joy  musical, 
Mother-love,  maiden-love,  which  never  more 
Must  the  dead  look  for  on  the  further  shore 
Of  Acheron,  and  past  the  willow-wood 
Of  Proserpine  ! 

But  when  he  understood, 
Achilles,  that  his  end  was  near  at  hand, 
Darkling  he  heard  the  news,  and  on  the  strand 
Beyond  the  ships  he  stood  awhile,  then  cried 
The  Sea-God  that  high-hearted  and  clear-eyed 
He   might  go   down ;   and   this  for  utmost 

grace 

He  asked,  that  not  by  battle  might  his  face 
Be  marred,  nor  fighting  might  some  Dardan 

best 

Him  who  had  conquered  ever.  For  the  rest, 
Fate,  which  had  given,  might  take,  as  fate 

should  be. 

So  prayed  he,  and  Poseidon  out  of  the  sea, 
There  where  the  deep  blue   into  sand  doth 

fade 

And  the  long  wave  rolls  in,  a  bar  of  jade, 
Sent  him  a  portent  in  that  sea-blue  bird 
Swifter  than    light,   the    halcyon  ;    and    men 

heard 

The  trumpet  of  his  praise  :  "  Shaker  of  Earth, 
Hail  to  thee  !  Now  I  fare  to  death  in  mirth, 
As  to  a  banquet !  " 

So  when  day  was  come 
Lightly  arose  the  prince  to  meet  his  doom, 
And  kissed  Brise'fs  where  she  lay  abed 


6  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  never  more  by  hers  might  rest  his  head : 
"  Farewell,  my  dear,  farewell,  my  joy,"  said 

he; 

"  Farewell  to  all  delights  'twixt  thee  and  me  ! 
For  now  I  take  a  road  whose  harsh  alarms 
Forbid  so  sweet  a  burden  to  my  arms." 
Then    his    clean    limbs    his  weeping    squires 

bedight 

In  all  the  mail  Hephaistos  served  his  might 
Withal,  of  breastplate  shining  like  the  sun 
Upon  flood-water,  three-topped  helm  whereon 
Gleamed  the  gold  basilisk,  and  goodly  greaves. 
These  bore  he  without  word  ;  but  when  from 

sheaves 

Of  spears  they  picked  the  great  ash  Pelian 
Poseidon  gave  to  Peleus,  God  to  a  man, 
For  no  man's  manege  else — than   all   men's 

fear  : 
"  Dry  and  cold  fighting  for  thee  this  day,  my 

spear," 
Quoth    he.     And   so  when   one    the  golden 

shield 

Immortal,  daedal,  for  no  one  else  to  wield, 
Cast  o'er  his  head,  he  frowned  :  "  On   thy 

bright  face 

Let  me  see  who  shall  dare  a  dint,"  he  says, 
And  stood  in  thought  full-armed  ;  thereafter 

poured 

Libation  at  the  tent-door  to  the  Lord 
Of  earth  and  sky,  and  prayed,  saying  :   "  O 

Thou 


HELEN  REDEEiMED  7 

That  hauntest  dark  Dodona,  hear  me  now, 
Since   that  the  shadowing    arm  of   Time  is 

flung 

Far  over  me,  but  cloudeth  me  full  young. 
Scatheless  I  vow  them.     Let  one  Trojan  cast 
His  spear  and  loose  my  spirit.     Rage  is  past 
Though  I  go  forth  my  most  provocative 
Adventure  :   'tis  not  I  that  seek.     Receive 
My  prayer  Thou  as  I  have  earned  it — lo, 
Dying  I  stand,  and  hail  Thee  as  I  go 
Lord  of  the  ^Egis,  wonderful,  most  great !  " 
Which  done,  he  took  his  stand,  and  bid 

his  mate 

Urge  on  the  steeds  ;  and  all  the  Achaian  host 
Followed  him,  not  with  outcry  or  loud  boast 
Of  deeds  to  do  or  done,  but  silent,  grim 
As  to  a  shambles — so  they  followed  him, 
Eyeing  that  nodding  crest  and  swaying  spear 
Shake  with    the  chariot.     Solemn   thus  they 

near 

The  Trojan  walls,  slow-moving,  as  by  a  Fate 
Driven  ;  and  thus  before  the  Skaian  Gate 
Stands  he  in  pomp  of  dreadful  calm,  to  die, 
As  once  in  dreadful  haste  to  slay. 

Thereby 
The  walls  were  thick  with  men,   and  in  the 

towers 
Women    stood    gazing,    clustered     close    as 

flowers 
That  blur  the  rocks  in  some  high  mountain 

pass 


8  HELEN  REDEEMED 

With  delicate  hues  ;  but  like   the  gray  hill- 
grass 
Which   the  wind  sweepeth,  till  in  waves  of 

.  light 

It  tideth  backwards — so  all  gray  or  white 
Showed  they,  as  sudden  surges  moved  them 

cloak 
Their  heads,  or  bare  their  faces.     And  none 

spoke 
Among    them,    for   there  stood   not  woman 

there 
But  mourned  her  dead,  or  sensed  not  in  the 

air 
Her  pendent  doom  of  death,  or  worse  than 

death. 

Frail  as  flowers  were  their  faces,  and  all  breath 
Came  short  and  quick,  as   on  this  dreadful 

show 

Staring,  they  pondered  it  done  far  below 
As  on  a  stage  where  the  thin  players  seem 
Unkith  to  them  who  watch,  the  stuff  of  dream. 
Nor  else  about  the  plain  showed  living  thing 
Save  high  in  the  blue  where  sailed  on  out- 
spread wing 

A  vulture  bird  intent,  with  mighty  span 
Of  pinion. 

In  the  hush  spake  the  dead  man, 
Hollow-voiced,  terrible  :  "  Ye  tribes  of  Troy, 
Here  stand  I  out  for  death,  and  ye  for  joy 
Of  killing  as  ye  will,  by  cast  of  spear, 
By  bowshot  or  with  sword.     If  any  peer 


HELEN  REDEEMED  9 

Of  Hector  or  Sarpedon  care  the  bout 
Which  they  both  tried  aforetime  let  him  out 
With  speed,  and  bring  his  many  against  one, 
Fearing  no  treachery,  for  there  shall  be  none 
To  aid  me,  God  nor  man  ;  nor  yet  will  I 
Stir  finger  in  the  business,  but  will  die 
By  murder  sooner  than  in  battle  fall 
Under  some  Trojan  hand." 

Breathless  stood  all, 

Not  moving  out  ;  but  Paris  on  the  roof 
Of  his  high  house,  where  snug  he  sat  aloof, 
Drew  taut  the  bowstring  home,  and  notched 

a  shaft, 

Soft  whistling  to  himself,  what  time  with  craft 
Of  peering  eyes  and  narrow  twisted  face 
He  sought  an  aim. 

Swift  from  her  hiding-place 
Came  burning  Helen  then,  in  her  blue  eyes 
A  fire  unquenchable,  but  cold  as  ice 
That  scorcheth  ere  it  strike  a  mortal  chill 
Upon  the  heart.     "  Darest  thou  .  .   .  ?  " 

Smiling  still, 

He  heeded  not  her  warning,  nor  he  read 
The  terror  of  her  eyes,  but  drew  and  sped 
A  screaming  arrow,  deadly,  swerving  not — 
Then  stood  to  watch  the  ruin  he  had  wrought. 
He  heard  the  sob  of  breath  o'er  all  the  host 
Of  hushing  men  ;   he  marked,  but  then  he 

lost, 
The  blood-spurt  at  the  shaft-head  ;  for  the 

crest 


io  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Upheaved,  the  shoulders  stiffen'd,  ere  to  the 

breast 
Bent  down  the  head,  as  though  the  glazing 

^  sight 
Curious  would   mark   the    death-spot.     Still 

upright 

Stood  he  ;  but  as  a  tree  that  on  the  side 
Of  Ida  yields  to  axe  her  soaring  pride 
And    lightlier  waves   her   leafy    crown,   and 

swings 

From  side  to  side — so  on  his  crest  the  wings 
Erect  seemed  shaking  upwards,  and  to  sag 
The  spear's  point,  and  the  burden'd  head  to 

wag 

Before  the  stricken  body  felt  the  stroke, 
Or  the  strong  knees  grew  lax,  or  the  heart 

broke. 
Breathless    they   waited  ;   then   the   failing 

man 

Stiffened  anew  his  neck,  and  changed  and  wan 
Looked  for  the  last  time  in  the  face  of  day, 
And  seemed  to  dare  the  Gods  such  might  to 

slay 

As  this,  the  sanguine  splendid  thing  he  was, 
Withal  now  gray  of  face  and  pinched.     Alas, 
For  pride  of  life  !     Now  he  had   heard   his 

knell. 

His  spirit  passed,  and  crashing  down  he  fell, 
Mighty  Achilles,  and  struck  the  earth,  and 

lay 
A  huddled  mass,  a  bulk  of  bronze  and  clay 


HELEN  REDEEMED  n 

Bestuck  with  gilt  and  glitter,  like  a  toy. 
There  dropt  a  forest  hush  on  watching  Troy, 
Upon  the  plain  and  watching  ranks  of  men  ; 
And  from  a  tower  some  woman  keened  him 

then 

With  long  thin  cry  that  wavered  in  the  air — 
As  once  before  one  wailed  her  Hector  there. 


SECOND  STAVE 

MENELAUS'    DREAM  :    HELEN    ON    THE   WALL 

So  he  who  wore  his  honour  like  a  wreath 
About  his  brows  went  the  dark  way  of  death  ; 
Which  being  done,  that   deed  of  ruth   and 

doom 
Gave  breath  to  Troy  ;  but  on  the  Achaians 

gloom 

Settled  like  pall  of  cloud  upon  a  land 
That    swoons    beneath    it.      Desperate    they 

scanned 
Each   other,  saying  :    "  Now  we  are  left  by 

God," 

And  in  the  huts  behind  the  wall  abode, 
Heeding  not  Diomede,  Idomeneus, 
Nor  keen  Odysseus,  nor  that  friend  of  Zeus 
Mykenai's  king,  nor  that  robbed  Menelaus, 
Nor    bowman    Teukros,    Nestor   wise,    nor 

Aias — 

Huge  Aias,  cursed  in  death !     Peleides  bare 
Himself  with  pride,  but  he  went  raving  there. 
For  in  the  high  assembly  Thetis  made 

12 


HELEN  REDEEMED  13 

In  honour  of  her  son,  to  waft  his  shade 
In  peace  to  Hades'  house,  after  the  fire 
Twice  a  man's  height  for  him  who  did  suspire 
Twice  a  man's  heart  and  render  it  to  Heaven 
Who  gave  it,  after  offerings  paid  and  given, 
And  games  of  men  and  horses,  she  brought 

forth 

His  regal  arms  for  hero  of  most  worth 
In  the  broad  Danaan  host,  who  was  adjudged 
Odysseus  by  all  voices.     Aias  grudged 
The    vote    and    wandered    brooding,    drawn 

apart 

From  his  room-fellows,  seeding  in  his  heart 
Envy,  which  biting  inwards  did  corrode 
His  mettle,  and  his  ill  blood  plied  the  goad 
Upon  his  brain,  until  the  wretch  made  mad 
Went  muttering  his  wrongs,  ill-trimmed,  ill- 
clad, 

Sightless  and  careless,  with  slack  mouth  awry, 
And  working  tongue,  and  danger  in  the  eye  ; 
And  oft  would  stare  at  Heaven  and  laugh 

his  scorn  : 
"  O    fools,    think   not   to   trick    me ! "    then 

forlorn 

Would  gaze  about  green  earth  or  out  to  sea  : 
"  This  is  the  end  of  man  in  his  degree  " — 
Thus  would  he  moralise  in  those  bare  lands 
With    hopeless    brows    and    tossing    up    of 

hands — 

"  To  sow  in  sweat  and  see  another  reap  !  " 
Then,  pitying  himself,  he'd  fall  to  weep 


i4  HELEN  REDEEMED 

His  desolation,  scorned  by  Gods,  by  men 
Slighted  ;  but  in  a  flash  he'd  rage  again 
And  shake  his  naked  sword  at  unseen  foes, 
And  dare  them  bring  Odysseus  to  his  blows  : 
Or  let  the  man  but  flaunt  himself  in  arms  .  .  .  ! 
So  threatening  God  knows  what  of  savage 

harms, 

On  him  the  oxen  patient  in  the  marsh, 
Knee-deep  in  rushes,  gazed  to  hear  his  harsh 
Outcry ;   and  them   his   madness   taught  for 

Greeks, 

So  on  their  dumb  immensity  he  wreaks 
His    vengeance,    driving    in    the    press  with 

shout 

Of  "  Aias  !  Aias  !  "  hurtling,  carving  out 
A   way  with    mighty  swordstroke,  cut   and 

thrust, 

And  makes  a  shambles  in  his  witless  lust ; 
And  in  the  midst,  bloodshot,  with  blank  wild 

eyes 

Stands  frothing  at  the  lips,  and  after  lies 
All  reeking  in  his  madman's  battlefield, 
And  sleeps  nightlong.  But  with  the  dawn's 

revealed 

The  pity  of  his  folly  ;  then  he  sees 
Himself  at  his  fool's  work.     With  shaking 

knees 

He  stands  amid  his  slaughter,  and  his  own 
Adds  to  the  wreck,  plunging  without  a  groan 
Upon  his  planted  sword.     So  Aisa  died 
Lonely  ;  and  he  who,  never  from  his  side 


HELEN  REDEEMED  15 

Removed,  had  shared  his  fame,  the  Lokrian, 
Abode  the  fate  foreordered  in  the  plan 
Which  the  Blind  Women  ignorantly  weave. 

But  think  not  on  the  dead,  who  die  and 

leave 

A  memory  more  fragrant  than  their  deeds, 
But  to  the  remnant  rather  and  their  needs 
Give  thought  with  me.  What  comfort  in 

their  swords 
Have  they,  robbed  of  the  might  of  two  such 

lords 

As  Peleus'  son  and  Telamon's  ?     What  art 
Can  drive  the  blood  back  to  the  stricken  heart  ? 
Like  huddled  sheep  cowed  obstinate,  as  dull 
As  oxen  impotent  the  wain  to  pull 
Out  of  a  rut,  which,  failing  at  first  lunge, 
Answer   not  voice   nor    goad,   but    sideways 

plunge 
Or   backward   urge  with   lowered   heads,  or 

stand 

Dumb    monuments    of    sufferance — so    un- 
manned 
The  Achaians  brooded,  nor  their  chiefs  had 

care 
To  drive   them  forth,  since   they  too  knew 

despair, 

And  neither  saw  in  battle  nor  retreat 
A  way  of  honour. 

And  the  plain  grew  sweet 
Again  with  living  green  ;  the  spring  o'  the  year 


1 6  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Came  in  with  flush   of  flower  and  bird-call 

clear  ; 
And  Nature,  for  whom  nothing  wrought  is 

vain, 
Out   of  shed   blood   caused   grass   to   spring 

amain, 

And  seemed  with  tender  irony  to  flout 
Man's  folly  and  pain  when  twixt  dead  spears 

sprang  out 
The    crocus-point   and    pied  the  plain   with 

fires 
More  gracious  than  his  beacons ;  and  from 

pyres 

Of  burnt  dead  men  the  asphodel  uprose 
Like  fleecy  clouds  flushed  with  the  morning 

rose, 
A  holy  pall  to  hide  his  folly  and  pain. 

Thus  upon  earth  hope  fell  like  a  new  rain, 
And  by  and  by  the  pent  folk  within  walls 
Took  heart  and  ploughed  the  glebe  and  from 

the  stalls 
Led  out  their  kine  to   pasture.     Goats  and 

sheep 
Cropt  at  their  ease,  and  herd-boys  now  did 

keep 

Watch,  where  before  stood  armed  sentinels  ; 
And  battle-grounds  were  musical  with  bells 
Of  feeding  beasts.     Afar,    high-beacht,  the 

ships 
Loomed  through  the  tender  mist,  their  prows 

— like  lips 


HELEN  REDEEMED  17 

Of  thirsty  birds  which,  lacking  water,  cry 
Salvation  out  of  Heaven — flung  on  high  : 
Which  marking,  Ilios  deemed  her  worst  of 

road 

Was  travelled,  and  held  Paris  for  a  God 
Who  winged  the  shaft  that  brought  them  all 

this  peace. 

He  in  their  love  went  sunning,  took  his 

ease 

In  house  and  hall,  at  council  or  at  feast, 
Careless  of  what  was  greatest  or  what  least 
Of  all  his  deeds,  so  only  by  his  side 
She  lay,  the  blush-rose  Helen,  stolen  bride, 
The  lovely  harbour  of  his  arms.     But  she, 
A  thrall,  now  her  own  thralldom  plain  could 

see, 
And  sick   of  dalliance,  loathed  herself,  and 

him 
Who  had  beguiled  her.     Now  through  eyes 

made  dim 

With  tears  she  looked  towards  the  salt  sea- 
beach 
Where  stood  the  ships,  and  sought  for  sign 

in  each 

If  it  might  be  her  people's,  and  so  hers, 
Poor  alien  ! — Argive  now  herself  she  avers 
And  proudly  slave  of  Paris  and  no  wife  : 
Minion  she  calls  herself ;  and  when  to  strife 
Of  love  he  claims  her,  secret  her  heart  surges 
Back  to  her  lord  ;  and  when  to  kiss  he  urges, 


1 8  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  when   to   play  he   woos   her   with   soft 

words, 

Secret  her  fond  heart  calleth,  like  a  bird's, 
Towards  that  honoured  mate  who  honoured 

her, 

Making  her  wife  indeed,  not  paramour, 
Mother,  and  sharer  of  his  hearth  and  all 
His  gear.      Thus  every  night  :    and  on  the 

wall 
She    watches    every    dawn    for    what    dawn 

brings. 
And   the    strong  spirit  of  her   took   new 

wings 

And  left  her  lovely  body  in  the  arms 
Of  him  who  doted,  conning  o'er  her  charms, 
And  witless  held  a  shell ;  but  forth  as  light 
As  the   first  sigh  of  dawn   her  spirit  took 

flight 
Across    the    dusky    plain     to     where    fires 

gleamed 
And   muffled  guards   stood   sentry  ;    and  it 

streamed 

Within  the  hut,  and  hovered  like  a  wraith, 
A  presence  felt,  not  seen,  as  when  gray  Death 
Seems  to  the  dying  man  a  bedside  guest, 
But  to  the  watchers  cannot  be  exprest. 
So  hovered  Helen  in  a  dream,  and  yearned 
Over  the  sleeper  as  he  moaned  and  turned, 
Renewing  his  day's  torment  in  his  sleep  ; 
Who  presently  starts  up  and  sighing  deep, 
Searches  the  entry,  if  haply  in  the  skies 


HELEN  REDEEMED  19 

The  day  begin  to  stir.     Lo  there,  her  eyes 
Like  waning  stars  !     Lo  there,  her  pale  sad 

face 
Becurtained    in    loose    hair !       Now    he   can 

trace 
Athwart   that    gleaming    moon   her   mouth's 

droopt  bow 

To  tell  all  truth  about  her,  and  her  woe 
And  dreadful  store  of  knowledge.     As  one 

shockt 
To  worse  than  death  lookt  she,  with  horror 

lockt 

Behind  her  tremulous  tragic-moving  lips  : 
"  O  love,  O  love,"  saith  he,  and  saying,  slips 
Out  of  the  bed  :   "  Who  hath  dared  do  thee 

wrong  ? " 

No  answer  hath  she,  but  she  looks  him  long 
And   deep,  and  looking,  fades.      He  sleeps 

no  more, 

But  up  and  down  he  pads  the  beaten  floor, 
And    all    that    day   his    heart's    wild    crying 

hears, 
And    can    thank    God  for   gracious  dew  of 

tears 
And  tender  thoughts  of  her,  not  thoughts  of 

shame. 
So  came  the  next  night,  and  with  night  she 

came, 

Dream-Helen  ;  and  he  knew  then  he  must  go 
Whence  she   had    come.       His   need   would 

have  it  so — 


20  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  her  need.     Never  must  she  call  in  vain. 

Now  takes  he  way  alone  over  the  plain 
Where  dark  yet  hovers  like  a  catafalque 
And   all  life   swoons,  and   only   dead   things 

walk, 

Uneasy  sprites  denied  a  resting  space, 
That  shudder  as  they  flit  from  place  to  place, 
Like  bats  of  flaggy  wing   that  make   night 

blink 
With  endless  quest  :  so  do  those  dead,  men 

think, 

Who  fall  and  are  unserved  by  funeral  rite. 
These  passes  he,  and  nears  the  walls  of  might 
Which  Godhead  built  for  proud  Laomedon, 
And  knows  the  house  of  Paris  built  thereon, 
Terraced  and  set  with  gadding  vines  and  trees 
And  ever  falling  water,  for  the  ease 
Of  that  sweet  indweller  he  held  in  store. 
Thither  he  turns  him  quaking,  but  before 
Him  dares  not  look,  lest  he  should  see  her 

there 

Aglimmer  through  the  dusk  and,  unaware, 
Discover  her  fill  some  mere  homely  part 
Intolerably  familiar  to  his  heart, 
And  deeply  there  enshrined  and  glorified, 
Laid  up  with  bygone  bliss.     Yet  on  he  hied, 
Being  called,  and  ever  closer  on  he  came 
As  if  no  wrong  nor  misery  nor  shame 
Could  harder  be  than  not  to  see  her — Nay, 
Even  if  within  that  smooth  thief's  arms  she 
lay 


HELEN  REDEEMED  21 

Besmothered  in  his  kisses — rather  so 

Had   he  stood   stabbed    to   see,  than   on   to 

g° 
His  round  of  lonely  exile  ! 

Now  he  stands 
Beneath    her    house,    and    on    his    spear    his 

hands 
Rest,   and   upon   his   hands   he   grounds   his 

chin, 

And  motionless  abides  till  day  come  in  ; 
Pure  of  his  vice,  that  he  might  ease  her  woe, 
Not  brand  her  with  his  own.     Not  yet  the 

glow 
Of  false  dawn  throbbed,  nor   yet  the   silent 

town 
Stood  washt   in   light,   clear  -  printed  to  the 

crown 
In    the    cold    upper   air.     Dark   loomed   the 

walls, 
Ghostly  the  trees,   and   still    shuddered   the 

calls 

Of  owl  to  owl  from  unseen  towers.     Afar 
A    dog    barked.     High    and   hidden   in   the 

haar 

Which  blew  in  from  the  sea  a  heron  cried 
Honk !    and    he   heard   his    wings,   but    not 

espied 
The   heavy  flight.     Slow,  slow   the  orb  was 

filled 
With  light,  and  with  the  light  his  heart  was 

thrilled 


22  HELEN  REDEEMED 

With  opening  music,  faint,  expectant,  sharp 
As  the  first  chords  one  picks  out  from  the 

harp 

To  prelude  paean.     Venturing  all,  he  lift 
His  eyes,  and  there  encurtained  in  a  drift 
Of  sea-blue  mantle  close-drawn,  he  espies 
Helen  above  him  watching,  her  grave  eyes 
Upon  him  fixt,  blue  homes  of  mystery 
Unfathomable,  eternal  as  the  sea, 
And  as  unresting. 

So  in  that  still  place, 
In  that  still  hour  stood  those   two  face  to 

face. 


THIRD   STAVE 

MENELAUS    SPEAKS   WITH    HELEN 

BUT  when  he    had  her  there,  sharp  root 

of  ill 

To  him  and  his,  safeguarded  from  him  still, 
Too  sweet  to  be  forgotten,  too  much  marred 
By  usage  to  be  what  she  seemed,  bescarred, 
Behandled,  too  much  lost  and  too  much  won, 
Mock  image  making  horrible  the  sun 
That    once   had    shown    her    pure    for    his 

demesne, 

And  still  revealed  her  lovely,  and  unclean — 
Despair  turned  into  stone  what  had  been  kind, 
And    bitter   surged  his   griefs,   to  flood   his 

mind. 

"  O  ruinous  face,"  said  he,  "  O  evilhead, 
Art  thou  so  early  from  the  wicked  bed  ? 
So  prompt  to  slough  the  snugness  of  thy 

vice  ? 

Or  is  it  that  in  luxury  thou  art  nice 
Become,  and  dalliest  ? "     Low  her  head  she 

hung 

23 


24  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  moved  her  lips.     As  when  the  night  is 

young 

The  hollow  wind  presages  storm,  his  moan 
Came   wailing    at    her.       "  Ten    years  here, 

alone, 
And  in  that  time  to  have  seen  thee  thrice  !  " 

But  she  : 

"  Often  and  often  have  I  chanced  to  see 
My  lord  pass." 

His  heart  leapt,  as  leaps  the  child 
Enwombed  :  "  Hast  thou —  ?  " 

Faintly  her  quick  eyes  smiled  : 
"'At   this   time   my   house    sleepeth,    but    I 

wake  ; 

So  have  time  to  myself  when  I  can  take 
New  air,  and  old  thought." 

As  a  man  who  skills 
To  read  high  hope  out  of  dark  oracles, 
So    gleamed  his  eyes  ;    so  fierce  and   quick 

said  he  : 

"  Lady,  O  God  !     Now  would  that  I  could  be 
Beside  thee  there,  breathing  thy  breath,  thy 

thought 

Gathering ! "      Silent    stood    she,    memory- 
fraught, 
Nor   looked    his  way.     But  he  must  know 

her  soul, 

So  harpt  upon  her  heart.     "  Is  this  the  whole 
That  thou  wouldst  have  me  think,  that  thou 

com'st  here 
Alone  to  be  ?  " 


HELEN  REDEEMED  25 

She  blushed  and  dared  to  peer 
Downward.     "  Is  it  so  wonderful,"  she  said, 
"  If  I  desire  it  ?  "     He  :  "  Nay,  by  my  head, 
Not  so  ;  but  wonderful  I  think  it  is 
In  any  man  to  suffer  it."     The  hiss 
Of  passion  stript  all  vesture  from  his  tones 
And  showed    the  King    man   naked  to    the 

bones, 
Man  naked  to  the  body's  utterance. 

She  turned  her  head,  but  felt  his  burning 

glance 
Scorch,  and  his  words  leap  up.     "  Dost  thou 

desire 
I  leave  thee  then  ?     Answer  me  that." 

"  Nay,  sire, 
Not  so."     And  he  :  "  Bid  me  to  stay  while 

sleeps 
Thy  house,"  he  said,  "  so  stay  I."     Her  eyes' 

deeps 

Flooded  his  soul  and  drowned  him  in  despair, 
Despair  and  rage.     "  Behold  now,  ten  years' 

wear 

Between  us  and  our  love  !     Now  if  I  cast 
My  spear  and  rove  the  snow-mound  of  thy 

breast, 
Were  that  a  marvel  ?  " 

Long  she  lookt  and  grave, 
Pondering  his  face  and  searching.     "  Not  so 

brave 
My  lord  as  that  would  prove  him.      Nay, 

and  I  know 


26  HELEN  REDEEMED 

He  would  not  do  it."     And  the  truth  was 

so  ; 
And  well  he  knew  the  reason  :  better  she. 

Yet  for  a  little  in  that  vacancy 
Of  silence  and  unshadowing  light  they  stood, 
Those   long-divided,    speechless.       His    first 

mood 
With  bitter  grudge  was  choked,  but  hers  was 

mild, 

As  fearing  his.     At  last  she  named  the  child, 
Asking,  Was  all  well  ?     Short  he  told  her, 

Yes, 

The  child  was  well.    She  fingered  in  her  dress 
And  watched  her  hand  at  play  there. 

"  Here,"  she  said, 
"There  is  no  child,"  and  sighed.     Into  his 

dead 
And  wasted  heart  there  leaped  a  flame  and 

caught 
His     hollow    eyes.       "  Remembcrest     thou 

naught, 

Nothing  regrettest,  nothing  holdst  in  grief 
Of  all  our  joy  together  ere  that  thief 
Came  rifling  in  ?  "     For  all  her  answer  she 
Lookt  long  upon  him,  long  and  earnestly  ; 
And  misty  grew  her  eyes,  and  slowly  filled. 
Slowly  the  great  tears  brimmed,  and  slowly 

rilled 

Adown  her  cheeks.     So  presently  she  hid 
Those  wells  of  grief,  and  hung   her  lovely 

head  ; 


HELEN  REDEEMED  27 

And  he  had  no  more  words,  but  only  a  cry 
At  heart  too  deep  for  utterance,  and  too  high 
For  tears. 

And  now  came  Paris  from  the  house 
Into  the  sun,  rosy  and  amorous, 
As  when  the  sun  himself  from  the  sea-rim 
Lifteth,  and  gloweth  on  the  earth  grown  dim 
With  waiting  ;  and  he  piped  a  low  clear  call 
As  mellow  as  the  thrush's  at  the  fall 
Of  day  from  some  near  thicket.     At  whose 

sound 
Rose   up  caught  Helen  and  blushing  turned 

her  round 

To  face  him  ;  but  in  going,  ere  she  met 
The  prince,  her  hand  along  the  parapet 
She  trailed,  palm  out,  for  sign  to  who  below 
Rent  at  himself,  nor  had  the  wit  to  know 
In  that  dumb  signal  eloquence,  and  hope 
Therein  beyond  his  sick  heart's  utmost  scope. 
Throbbing  he  stood  as  when  a  quick-blown 

peat, 
Now  white,  now  red,   burns    inly  —  O  wild 

heat, 

O  ravenous  race  of  men,  who'd  barter  Space 
And   Time   for  one  short  snatch  of  instant 

grace  ! 
Withal,    next    day,    drawn    by    his    dear 

desire, 
When    as    the    young    green    burned    like 

emerald  fire 


28  HELEN  REDEEMED 

In  the  cold  light,  back  to  the  tryst  he  came  ; 
But    she  was   sooner   there,    and    called   his 

name 

Softly  as  cooing  dove  her  bosom's  mate  ; 
And    showed    her   eyes  to  him,  which  half 

sedate 

To  be  so  sought  revealed  her,  half  in  doubt 
Lest  he  should  deem  her  bold  to  meet  the 

bout 
With   too   much   readiness.       But    high    he 

flaunted 

Her  name  towards  the  sky.     "  Thou  God- 
enchanted, 
Thou   miracle  of  dawn,  thou   Heart  of  the 

Rose, 

Hail  thou  !  "    On  his  own  eloquence  he  grows 
The    lover    he    proclaims.       "  O    love,"    he 

saith, 
"  I    would    not   leave    thee  for  a    moment's 

breath, 
Nor  once  these  ten  long  years  had  left  thy 

side 
Had  it  been  possible  to  stay  !  " 

She  sighed, 
She  wondered  o'er  his  face,  she  looked  her 

fill, 

Museful,  still  doubting,  smiling  half,  athrill, 
All  virgin  to  his  praise.     "  O  wonderful," 
She  said,  "  Such  store  of  love  for  one  so  foul 
As  I  am  now !  " 

O  fatal  hot-and-cold, 


HELEN  REDEEMED  29 

O  love,  whose  iris  wings  not  long  can  hold 
The  upper  air  !     Sudden  her  thought  smote 

hot 
On  him.     "  Thou  sayest !      True  it  is,  God 

wot ! 
Warm    from    his    bed,    and    tears    for    thy 

unworth  ; 
Warm  from  his  bed,  and  tears  to  meet  my 

mirth  ; 
Then  back  to  his  bed  ere  yet  thy  tears  be 

dry!" 

She  heard  not,  but  she  knew  his  agony 
Of  burning  vision,  and  kept  back  her  tears 
Until  his  pity  moved  in  tune  with  hers 
Towards  herself.     But  he   from  thunderous 

brows 
Frowned  on.     "  No  more  I  see  thee  by  this 

house, 

Except  to  slay  thee  when  the  hour  decree 
An  end  to  this  vile  nest  of  cuckoldry 
And  holy  vows  made  hateful,  save  thou  speak 
To  each  my  question  sooth.     Keep  dry  thy 

cheek 
From    tears,  hide    up    thy  beauty  with    thy 

grief— 

Or  let  him  have  his  joy  of  them,  thy  thief, 
What   time  he  may.     Answer   me   thou,  or 

vain 

Till  thine  hour  strike  to  look  for  me  again." 
With    hanging    head    and    quiet    hanging 

hands, 


30  HELEN  REDEEMED 

With    lip    atremble,   as   caught   in   fault  she 

stands, 

Scarce  might  he  hear  her  whispered  message  : 

"  Ask, 
Lord,  and  I  answer  thee." 

Strung  to  his  task  : 
"Tell  me  now  all,"  he  said,  "from  that  far 

day 

Whenas  embracing  thee,  I  stood  to  pray, 
And  poured  forth  wine  unto  the  thirsty  earth 
To  Zeus  and  to  Poseidon,  in  whose  girth 
Lie  sea  and  land  ;  to  Gaia  next,  their  spouse, 
And  next  to  Here,  mistress  of  my  house, 
Traitress,    and    thine,    for   grace    upon    my 

faring  : 
For   thou  wert    by  to   hear   me,   false  arm 

bearing 

Upon  my  shoulder,  glowing,  lying  cheek 
Next  unto  mine.     Ay,   and    thou    prayedst, 

with  meek 

Fair  seeming,  prosperous  send-off  and  return. 
Tell  me  what  then,  tell  all,  and  let  me  learn 
With  what  pretence  that  dog-souled  slaked 

his  thirst 
In    thy    sweet   liquor.       Tell   me    that    the 

first." 
Then    Helen    lifted    up    her    head,    and 

beamed 
Clear  light  upon  him  from  her  eyes,  which 

seemed 
That  blue  which,  lying  on  the  white  sea-bed 


HELEN  REDEEMED  31 

And  gazing  up,  the  sunbeam  overhead 
Would  show,  with  green  entinctured,  and  the 

warp 

Inwoven  of  golden  shafts,  blended  yet  sharp  ; 
So  that  a  glory  mild  and  radiant 
Transfigured  them.     Upon  him  fell  aslant 
That  lovely  light,  while  in  her  cheeks  the  hue 
Of  throbbing    dawn    came   sudden.     So    he 

knew 
Her  best  before  she  spoke  ;    for  when   she 

spoke 

It  was  as  if  the  nightingale  should  croak 
In  April  midst  the  first  young  leaves,  so 

bleak, 
So  harsh    she    schooled    her    throat,   that    it 

should  speak 

Dry  matter  and  hard  logic — as  if  she 
Were  careful  lest  self-pity  urged  a  plea 
Which  was  not  hers  to  make  ;  or  as  one  faint 
And  desperate  lays  down  all  his  argument 
Like  bricks  upon  a  field,  let  who  will  make 
A  house  of  them  ;  so  drily  Helen  spake 
With  a  flat  voice.     "  Thou  hadst  been  nine 

days  gone, 

Came  my  lord  Alexandros,  Priam's  son, 
And  hailed  me  in  the  hall  whereas  I  sat, 
And  claimed  his  guest -right,  which  not 

wondering  at 

I  gave  as  fitting  was.     Then  came  the  day 
I  was  beguiled.     What  more  is  there  to  say  ?  " 
Fixt  on  her  fingers  playing  on  the  wall 


32  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Her  eyes  were.     But  the  King  said  :  "Tell 

me  all. 

Thou  wert  beguiled  :  by  his  desire  beguiled, 
Or  by  thine  own  ?  "     She  shook  her  head  and 

smiled 

Most  sadly,  pitying  herself.     "  Who  knoweth 
The  ways  of  Love,  whence  cometh,  whither 

goeth 
The   heart's  low  whimper  ?      This  I  know, 

he  loved 

Me  then,  and  pleasured  only  where  I  moved 
About  the  house.     And  I  had  pleasure  too 
To  know  of  me  he  had  it.     Then  we  knew 
The   day   at   hand  when   he   must  take   the 

road 

And  leave  me  ;  and  its  eve  we  close  abode 
Within   the   house,  and   spake    not.     But  I 

wept." 
She  stayed,   and  whispering  down  her  next 

word  crept  : 
"  I  was  beguiled,  beguiled."     And  then  her 

HP 

She  bit,  and  rueful  showed  her  partnership 
In  sinful  dealing. 

But  he,  in  his  esteem 
Bleeding  and  raw,  urged  on.     "  To  Kranai's 

deme 
He  took  thee  then  ? " 

Speechless  she  bent  her  head 
Towards    her    tender    breasts   whereon,    soft 
shed 


HELEN  REDEEMED  33 

As    upon   low   quiet   hills,   the    dawn    light 

played, 
And   limned  their  gentle  curves  or  sank  in 

shade. 

So  gazing,  stood  she  silent,  but  the  King 
Urged    on.      "  From    thence    to   Ilios,   thou 

willing, 
Hetookthee?" 

Then,  u  I  was  beguiled,"  again 
She  said  ;  and  he,  who  felt  a  worthier  strain 
Stir  in  his  gall  compassion,  and  uplift 
Him  out  of  knowledge,  saw  a  blessed  rift 
Upon  his  dark  horizon,  as  tow'rds  night 
The  low  clouds  break  and  shafted  shows  the 

^  light. 
"  Ten  years  beguiled  !  "  he  said,  "  but  now  it 

seems 
Thou  art "    She  shook  her  head.    "  Nay, 

now  come  dreams  ; 
Nay,  now  I  think,  remember,  now  I  see." 
"What  callest  thou  to  mind?"     "Her- 

mione," 
She  said,   "  our   child,   and   Sparta  my  own 

land, 

And  all  the  honour  that  lay  to  my  hand 
Had  I  but  chosen  it,  as  now  I  would  " — 
And  sudden  hid  her  face  up  in  her  hood, 
Her    courage   ebbed    in    grief,    all   hardness 

drowned 
In  bitter  weeping. 

Noble  pity  crowned 
D 


34  HELEN  REDEEMED 

The  greater  man  in  him  ;  so  for  a  space 
They  wept  together,  she  for  loss  ;  for  grace 
Of  gain  wept  he.     "  No  more,"  he  said,  "  my 

sweet, 
Tell  me  no  more." 

"  Ah,  hear  the  whole  of  it 
Before  my  hour  is  gone,"  she  cried.     But  he 
Groaning,  "  I  dare  not  stay  here  lest  I  see 
Him  take  thee  again." 

Both  hands  to  fold  her  breast, 
She  shook  her  head  ;  like  as  the  sun  through 

mist 
Shone  triumph  in  her  eyes.     "  Have  no  more 

fear 

Of  him  or  any "     Then,  hearing  a  stir 

Within  the  house,  her  finger  toucht  her  lip, 
And  one  fixt  look  she  gave  of  fellowship 
Assured — then  turned  and  quickly  went  her 

way  ; 
And  his  light  vanisht  with  her  for  that  day 


FOURTH  STAVE 

THE    APOLOGY    OF    HELEN 

O  SINGING  heart,  O  twice-undaunted  lover! 
O  ever  to  be  blest,  twice  blest  moreover ! 
Twice  over  win  the  world  in  one  girl's  eyes, 
Twice  over  lift  her  name  up  to  the  skies  ; 
Twice   to   hope    all   things,    so  to    be  twice 

born — 

For  he  lives  not  who  cannot  front  the  morn 
Saying,  "  This  day  I  live  as  never  yet 
Lived  striving  man  on  earth  !  "     What  if  the 

fret 

Of  loss  and  ten  years'  agonizing  snow 
Thy  hairs  or  leave  their  tracery  on  thy  brow, 
Each  line  beslotted  by  the  demon  hounds 
Hunting  thee  down  o'   nights  ?     Laugh  at 

thy  wounds, 
Laugh  at  thy  eld,  strong  lover,  whose  blood 

flows 

Clear  from  the  fountain,  singing  as  it  goes, 
"  She  loves,  and  so  I  live  and  shall  not  die ! 
Love  on,  love  her  :  'tis  immortality. 
35 


36  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Once  more  before  the  sun  he  greeted  her  : 
She  glowed  her  joy  ;  her  mood  was  calm  and 

clear 

As  mellow  evening's  whenas,  like  a  priest, 
Rain  has  absolved  the  world,  and  golden  mist 
Hangs  over  all  like  benediction. 
In  her  proud  eyes  sat  triumph  on  a  throne, 
To  know  herself  beloved,  her  lover  by, 
So  near  the  consummation.     Womanly 
She  dallied  with  the  moment  when,  all  wife, 
Upon  his  breast  she'd  lie  and  cast  her  life, 
Cast  body,  soul  and  spirit  in  one  gest 
Supreme  of  giving.     Glorying  in  his  quest 
Of  her,  now  let  her  hide  what  he  must  glean, 
But   not  know  yet.     Ah,  sweet  to  feel  his 

keen 
Long  eye -search,   like  the  touch  of   eager 

fingers, 
And  sweet  to  thrill  beneath  such  hot  blush- 

bringers  ; 

To  fence  with  such  a  swordsman  hazardous 
And  sweet.     "  Belov'd,  thou  art  glad  of  me ! " 

Then  thus 
Antiphonal    to    him    she    breathes,    "Thou 

sayest !  " 
"  I  see  thy  light  and  hail  it !  " 

"  Thou  begayest 
My  poor  light." 

"  Knowest  thou  not  that  thou  art  loved  ? " 
"  And  am  I  loved  then  ?  " 

"  If  thou'ldst  have  it  proved, 


HELEN  REDEEMED  37 

Look  in  my  eyes.     Would  thine  were  open 

book!"   ' 
"  Palimpsest  I,"  she  said,  and  would  not 

look. 
But    he   was   grappling    now   with    truth, 

would  have  it, 
What  though  it  cost  him  all  his  gain.     She 

gave  it, 

Looking  him  along.     "  O  lady  mine,"  he  said, 
"  Now  are  my  clouds  dispersed  every  shred  ; 
For  thou  art  mine  ;   I  think  thou  lovest  me. 
Speak,  is  that  true  ?" 

She  could  not,  or  may  be 
She  would  not  hold  her  gaze,  but  let  it  fall, 
And  watched  her  fingers  idling  on  the  wall, 
And  so  remained  ;    but  urged  to  it  by  the 

spell 

He  cast,  she  whispered  down,  "  I  cannot  tell 
Thee  here,  and  thus  apart  " — which  when  he 

had 

In  its  full  import  drove  him  well-nigh  mad 
With  longing.     "  Call  me  and  I  come  !  " 

But  fear 
Flamed  in  her  eyes  :   "  No,  no,  'tis  death  ! 

He's  here 
At  hand.     'Tis  death  for   thee,   and  worse 

than  death — " 
She  ended  so — "  for  both  of  us." 

And  breath 
Failed  him,  for  well  he  knew  now  what  she 

meant, 


38  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  sighed  his  thanks  to  Gods  beneficent. 

Thereafter  in  sweet  use  of  lovers'  talk, 
In  boon  spring  weather,  whenas  lovers  walk 
Handfasted  through  the  meadows  pied,  and 

wet 
With  dew  from  flower  and  leaf,  these  lovers 

met — 

Two  bodies  separate,  one  wild  heart  between, 
Day  after  day,  these  two  long-severed  been  ; 
And  of  this  mating  of  the  eye  and  tongue 
There  grew  desire  passionate  and  strong 
For  body's  mating  and  its  testimony, 
Hearts'  intimacy,  perfect,  full  and  free. 

And  Helen  for  her  heart's  ease  did  deny 
Her  girdled  Goddess  of  the  beamy  eye, 
Saying,  "  Come  you  down,  Mistress  of  sleek 

loves 
And  panting  nights  :  your  service  of  bought 

doves 

And  honey-hearted  wine  may  cost  too  dear. 
What  hast  thou  done  for  me  since  first  my 

ear 

With  thy  sly  music  thou  didst  sign  and  seal 
Apprentice  to  thy  mystery,  teach  me  feel 
Thy  fierce  divinity  in  the  trembling  touch 
Of  open  lips  ?     Served  I  not  thee  too  much 
In  Kranai  and  in  Sparta  my  demesne, 
Too    much    in   widc-wayed   Ilios,    Eastern 

Queen  ? 

Yes,  but  it  was  too  much  a  thousandfold, 
For  what  was  I  but  leman  bought  and  sold  ? 


HELEN  REDEEMED  39 

"  For  woman  craved  what  mercy  hath  man 

brought, 

What  face  a  woman  for  a  woman  sought  ? 
What  mercy  or  what  face  ?     And  what  saith 

she, 
The   hunted,   scorned   wretch  ?     Boast   that 

she  be 

Coveted,  hankered,  spat  on  ?     One  to  gloat, 
The  rest  to  snarl  without !     If  man  play  goat, 
What   must  she  play  ?     Her  glory  is  it  to 

draw 

On  greedy  eye,  sting  greedy  lip  and  paw, 
And  find  the  crown  of  her  desire  therein  ? 
Hath  she  no  rarer  bliss  than  all  this  sin, 
Is  she  for  dandling,  kissing,  hidden  up 
For  hungry  hands  to  stroke  or  lips  to  sup  ? 
Hath  she  then  nothing  of  her  own,  no  mirth 
In  honesty,  nor  eyes  to  worship  worth, 
Nor  pride  except  in  that  which  makes  men 

dogs, 

Nor  loathing  for  the  vice  wherein,  like  logs 
That  float  beneath  the  sun,  lie  fair  women 
Submiss,  inert  receptacles  for  sin  ? 
Is  this  her  all  ?     Hath  she  no  heart,  nor  care 
Therefor?     No  womb,  nor  hope  therein  to 

bear 

Fruit  of  her  heart's  insurgence  ?     Is  her  face, 
Are   these   her  breasts  for  fondling,  not  to 

grace 

Her  heart's  high  honour,  swell  to  nurture  it, 
That  it  too  grow  ?     Hath  she  no  mother- wit, 


40  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Nor  sense  for  living  things  and  innocent, 
Nor  leap  of  joy  for  this  good  world's  content 
Of  sun  and  wind,  of  flower  and  leaf,  and  song 
Of  bird,  or  shout  of  children  as  they  throng 
The  world  of  mated  men  and  women  ?     Nay, 
Persuade  me  not,  O  Kypris  ;  but  I  say 
Evil    hath   been    the   lore  which    thou  hast 

taught — 
For  many  have  loved  my   face,   and  many 

sought 

My  breast,  and  thought  it  joy  supping  thereat 
Sweetness  and  dear  delight ;  but  out  of  that 
What  hath  there  come  to  them,  to  me  and  all 
Mine  but  hot  shame  ?     Not  milk,  but  bitter 

gall." 

So  in  her  high  passion  she  rent  herself 
And  rocked,  or  hid  her  face  upon  the  shelf 
Of  the  grim  wall,  lest  he  should  see  the  whole 
Inexpiable  sorrow  of  her  soul. 
But  he  by  pity  pure  made  bountiful 
Lent  her  excuse,  by  every  means  to  lull 
Her  agony.     Said  he,  "  Of  mortals  who 
Can  e'er  withstand  the  way  she  wills  them  to, 
Kypris  the  forceful  Goddess  ?  Nay,  dear  child, 
Thou  wert  constrained." 

She  said,  "  I  was  beguiled 
And  clung  to  him  until  the  day-dawn  broke 
When  I  could  read  as  in  the  roll  of  a  book 
His  open  heart.     And  then  my  own  heart 
reeled 


HELEN  REDEEMED  41 

To  know  him  craven,  dog,  not  man,  revealed 
A  panting  drudge  of  lust,  who  held  me  here 
Caged    vessel.     Nay,   come  close.      I  loved 

him  dear, 

Too  dear,  I  know  ;  but  never  till  he  came 
Had  known  the  leap  of  joy,  the  fire  of  flame 
Upon  the  heart  he  gave  me,  Paris  the  bright, 
Whose  memory  was  music  and  his  sight 
Fragrance,  whose  nearness  made  my  footfall 

dance, 
Whose    touch    was    fever,    and    his   burning 

glance 
Faintness  and  blindness  ;  in  whose  light  my 

life 

Centred  ;  who  was  the  sun,  and  I,  false  wife, 
The    foolish   flower    that    turns  whereso    he 

wheels 

Over  the  broad  earth's  canopy,  and  steals 
Colour  from  his  strong  beam,  but  at  the  last 
Whenas  the  night  comes  and  the  day  is  past 
Droops,  burnt  at  the  heart.     So  loved  I  him, 

and  so 
Waxed  bold  to  dare  the  deed  that  brought 

this  woe." 
And  there  she  changed,  and  bitter  was  her 

cry  : 

"  Ah,  lord,  far  better  had  it  been  to  die 
Ere  I  had  cast  this  pain  on  thee,  and  shame 
On  me,  and  wrought  such  outrage  on  our 

name. 
Natheless  I  live " 


42  HELEN  REDEEMED 

"  Ay,  and  give  life  !  "  he  said  ; 
"Yet  this  thing  more  I'd  have  thee  tell — 

what  led 
Thy    thought    to    me?     From    him,    what 

turned  thy  troth — 
Such  troth  as  there  could  be  ?  " 

She  cried,  "  The  oath  ! 
The    oath    ye   sware    before   the    Lords    of 

Heaven, 

The  sacrifice,  the  pledges  taken  and  given 
When  thou  and  Paris  met  upon  the  plain, 
And  all  the  host  sat  down  to  watch  you  twain 
Do  battle,  which  should  have  me.     For  my 

part, 

They  took  me  forth  to  watch  ;  as  in  the  mart 
A  heifer  feels  the  giver  of  the  feast 
Pinch  in  her  flank,  and  hears  the  chaffer  twist 
This  way  and  that  for  so  much  fat  or  lean — 
Even  so  was  I,  a  queen,  child  of  a  queen." 

She  bit  her  lip  until  the  blood  ran  free, 
And  in  her  eyes  he  markt  deep  injury 
Scald  as  the  salt  tears  welled  ;  but  "  Listen 

yet," 

She  said  :   "  Ye  fought,  and  Paris  fell  beset 
Under  thy  spurning  heel,  yet  felt  no  whit 
The  bitterness  as  I  must  come  to  it ; 
For  she,  his  Goddess,  hid  him  up  in  mists 
And  brought  him  beat  and  broken  from  the 

lists 
Here   to   his    chamber.     But   I   stood    and 

burned, 


HELEN  REDEEMED  43 

Shameful  to  be  by  one  lost,  by  one  earned, 
A  prize  for  games,  a  slave,  a  bandied  thing — 
Since  as  the  oath  was  made  so  must  I  swing 
From  bed  to  bed.     But  while  I  stood  and 

wept, 

Melted  in  fruitless  sorrow,  up  she  crept 
For  me,  his  Goddess,  gliding  like  a  snake, 
Who  wreathed  her  arms  and  whispering  me 

go  make 
The  nuptial  couch,  <  What  oath  binds  love  ? ' 

did  say. 

Loathing  him,  I  must  go.     He  had  his  way, 
As  well  he  might  who  paid  that  goodly  price, 
Honour,  truth,  courage,  all,  to  have  his  vice  : 
The    which   forsook    him   when    those    fair 

things  fled  ; 

For  though  my  body  hath  lain  in  his  bed, 
My  heart  abhors  it.     And  now  in  truth  I  wis 
My  lord's  true  heart  is  where  my  own  heart 

is, 

The  two  together  welded  and  made  whole  ; 
And  I  will  go  to  him  and  give  my  soul 
And  shamed  and  faded  body  to  his  nod, 
To  spurn  or  take;  and  he  shall  be  my  God." 

Whereat  made  virgin,  as  all  women  are 
By  love's  white  purging  fire  which  leaves  no 

scar 
Where  all  was  soiled  and  seamed  before  the 

torch 
Of  Eros    toucht    the    heart,   and    the    keen 

scorch 


44  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Lickt  up  the  foul  misuse  of  vase  so  fair 
As  woman's  body,  Helen  flusht  and  fair 
Leaned  from  the  wall  a  fire-hued  seraph's 

face 
And  in  one  rapt  long  look  gave  and  took 

Grace. 

Deep  in  her  eyes  he  saw  the  light  divine, 
Quick  in  him  ran  fierce  joy  of  it  like  wine  : 
Light  unto  light  made  answer,  as  a  flag 
Answers  when  men  tell  tidings  from  one  crag 
Unto  another,  and  from  peak  to  peak 
The  good  news  flashes.     Scarcely  could  he 

speak 
Measurable  words,  so  high  his  wild  thought 

whirled  : 
"  Bride,  Goddess,  Helen,  O  Wonder  of  the 

World, 
Shall  I  come  for  thee  ? " 

Her  tender  words  came  soft 
As  dropping  rose  petals  on  garden  croft 
Down  from  the  wall's  sheer  height — "  Come 

soon,  come  soon." 
And  homing  to  the  lines  those  drummed  his 

tune. 


FIFTH   STAVE 

A    COUNCIL    OF    THE    ACHAIANS  : 
THE    EMBASSY    OF    ODYSSEUS 

Now  calleth  he  assembly  of  the  chiefs, 
Princes  and  kings  and  captains,  them  whose 

griefs 

To  ease  his  own  like  treasure  had  been  lent ; 
Who  came  and  sat  at  board  within  the  tent 
Of  him  they  hailed  host-father  and  their  lord 
For  this  adventure,  in  aught  else  abhorred 
Of  all  true  men.     He  sits  above  the  rest, 
The  fox-red  Agamemnon,  round  his  crest 
The  circlet  of  his  kingship  over  kings, 
And  at  his  thigh  the  sword  gold-hiked  swings 
Which  Zeus  gave  Atreus  once  ;  and  in  his 

heart 
That  gnawing  doubt  which  twice  had  checkt 

his  start 

For  high  emprise,  having  twice  egged  him  to  it, 
As  stout  Odysseus  knew  who  had  to  rue  it. 

Beside  him  Nestor  sat,  Nestor  the  old, 
White  as  the  winter  moon,  with  logic  cold 

45 


46  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Instilled,  as  if  the  blood  in  him  had  fled 
And  in  his  veins  clear  spirit  ran  instead, 
Which  made  men  reasons  and  not  fired  their 

sprites. 

And  next  Idomeneus  of  countless  fights, 
Shrewd  leader  of  the  Cretans  ;  by  his  side 
Keen-flashing  Diomedes  in  his  pride, 
The   young,  the  wild  in   onset,  whose  war- 
shrill, 

Next  after  Peleus'  son's,  held  all  Troy  still, 
And  stayed  the  gray  crows  at  their  ravelling 
Of  dead  men's  bones.     Into  debate  full  fling 
Went  he,  adone  with  tapping  of  the  foot 
And  drumming  on  the  board.     Had  but  his 

suit 

Been  granted — so  he  said — the  war  were  done 
And  Troy  a  name  ere  full  three  years  had 

gone: 

For  as  for  Helen  and  her  daintiness, 
Troy  held  a  mort  of  women  who  no  less 
Than  she  could  pleasure  night  when  work 

was  over 

And  men  came  home  ready  to  play  the  lover  ; 
And  in  housework  would  better  her.     Let 

Helen 

Be  laid  by  Paris,  villain,  and  dead  villain — 
Dead  long  ago  if  he  had  taken  the  field 
Instead  of  Menelaus.     Then  no  shield 
Had  Kypris'  golden  body  been,  acquist 
With  his  sword-arm  already,  near  the  wrist ! 
So  Diomedes.     Next  him  sat  a  man 


HELEN  REDEEMED  47 

With  all  his  woe  to  come,  the  Lokrian 

Aias,  son  of  O'fleus,  bearded  swart, 

Pale,  with  his  little  eyes,  and  legs  too  short 

And  arms  too  long,  a  giant  when  he  sat, 

Dwarf  else,  and  in  the  fight  a  tiger-cat. 

But  mark  his  neighbour,  mark  him  well  :  to 

him 

Falleth  the  lot  to  lay  a  charge  more  grim 
On  woman  fair  than  even  Althaia  felt 
Like  lead  upon  her  heartstrings,  when  she 

knelt 
And  blew  to  flame  the  brand  that  held  the 

life 

Of  her  own  son  ;  or  Procne  with  the  knife, 
Who  slew  and  dressed  her  child  to  be  a  meal 
To  his  own  father.     But  this  man's  thews 

were  steel, 

And  steely  were  the  nerves  about  his  heart, 
As  they  had  need.     Mark  him,   and   mark 

the  part 

He  plays  hereafter.     Odysseus  is  his  name, 
The  wily  Ithacan,  deathless  in  his  fame 
And    in    his    substance    deathless,    since    he 

goes 

Immortal  forth  and  back  wherever  blows 
The  thunder  of  thy  rhythm,  O  blind  King, 
First  of  the  tribe  of  them  with  songs  to  sing, 
Fountain  of  storied  music  and  its  end — 
For  who  the  poet  since  who  doth  not  tend 
To  essay  thy  leaping  measure,  or  call  down 
Thy  nodded  approbation  for  his  crown 


48  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  all  his  wages  ? 

Other  chiefs  sat  there 
In  order  due  :  as  Pyrrhos,  very  fair 
And  young,  with  high  bright  colour,  and  the 

hue 

Of  evening  in  his  eyes  of  violet-blue — 
Son  of  Achilles  he,  and  new  to  war. 
Then  Antiklos  and  Teukros,  best  by  far 
Of  all  the  bowmen  in  the  host.     And  last 
Menestheus  the  Athenian  dikast, 
Who  led  the  folk  from  Pallas's  fair  home. 

To  them  spake  Menelaus,  being  come 
Into  assembly  last,  and  taken  in  hand 
The  spokesman's  staff :  "Ye  princes  of  our 

land, 

Adventurous  Achaians,  stout  of  heart, 
Good  news  I  bring,  that  now  we  may  depart 
Each  to  his  home  and  kindred,  each  to  his 

hearth 
And  wife  and  children   dear  and  well-tilled 

garth, 

Contented  with  the  honour  he  has  brought 
To  me  and  mine,  since  I  have  what  we've 

sought 

With  bitter  pain  and  loss.     Yea,  even  now 
Hath  Here  crowned  your  strife  and  earned 

my  vow 
Made  these  ten  years  come  harvest,  having 

drawn 
The  veil  from  off  those  eyes  than  which  not 

dawn 


HELEN  REDEEMED  49 

Holds  sweeter  light  nor  holier,  once  they  see. 
Yea,  chieftains,  Helen's  heart  comes  back  to 

me  ; 

And  fast  she  watches  now  hard  by  the  wall 
Of  the  wicked  house,  and  ere  the  cock  shall 

call 

Another  morn  I  have  her  in  my  arms 
Redeemed  for  Sparta,  pure  of  Trojan  harms, 
Whole-hearted  and  clean-hearted  as  she  came 
First,  before  Paris  and  his  deed  of  shame 
Threatened  my  house  with  wreck,  and  on  his 

own 
Have  brought  no  joy.    This  night,  disguised, 

alone, 

I  stand  within  the  city,  waiting  day  ; 
Then  when  men  sleep,  all  in  the  shadowless 


Robbing  the  robber,  I  drop  down  with  her 
Over  the  wall  —  and  lo  !  the  end  of  the  war  !  " 
Thus  great  of  heart  and  high  of  heart  he 

spake, 
And  trembling  ceased.     Awhile  none  cared 

to  break 

The  silence,  like  unto  that  breathless  hush 
That  holds  a  forest  ere  the  great  winds  rush 
Up  from  the  sea-gulf,  bringing  furious  rain 
Like  mist  to  drown  all  nature,  blot  the  plain 
In  one  great  sheet  of  water  without  form. 
So  held  the  chiefs.     Then  Diomede  brake  in 

storm. 

Ever  the  first  he  was  to  fling  his  spear 

E 


50  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Into  the  press  of  battle  ;  dread  his  cheer, 
Like  the  long  howling  of  a  wolf  at  eve 
Or  clamour  of  the  sea-birds  when  they  grieve 
And  hanker  the  out-scouring  of  the  net 
Hidden  behind  the  darkness  and  the  wet 
Of  tempest -ridden   nights.     "  Princes,'1    he 

cried, 

"  What  say  ye  to  this  wooer  of  his  bride, 
For  whom  it  seems  ten  nations  and  their  best 
Have  fought  ten  years  to  bring  her  back  to 

nest  ? 
Is  this  your  meed  of  honour  ?     Was  it  for 

this 

You  flung  forth  fortune — to  ensure  him  his  ? 
And  he  made  snug  at  home,  we  seek  our 

lands 

Barer  than  we  left  them,  with  emptier  hands, 
And  some  with  fewer  members,  shed  that  he 
Might  fare  as  soft  and  trim  as  formerly  ! 
Not  so  went  I  adventuring,  good  friend  ; 
Not  so  look  I  this  business  to  have  end  : 
Nay,  but  I  fight  to  live,  not  live  to  fight, 
And  so  will  live  by  day  as  thou  by  night, 
Sating  my  eyes  with  havoc  on  this  race 
Of  robbers  of  the  hearth  ;  see  their  strong 

place 

Brought  level  with  the  herbage  and  the  weed, 
That    where    they  revelled  once  shrew-mice 

may  feed, 
And    moles    make   palaces,    and    bats   keep 

house. 


HELEN  REDEEMED  51 

And  if  thou  art  of  spleen  so  slow  to  rouse 
As  quit  thy  score  by  thieving  from  a  thief 
And  leave  him  scatheless  else,  thou  art  no 

chief 

For  Tydeus'  son,  who  sees  no  end  of  strife 
But  in  his  own  or  in  his  foeman's  life." 

So  he.     Then   Pyrrhos  spake  :   "  By  that 

great  shade 

Wherein  I  stand,  which  thy  false  Paris  made 
Who  slew  my  father,  think  not  so  to  have 

done 

With  Troy  and  Priam  ;  for  Peleides'  son 
Must  slake  the  sword  that  cries,  and  still  the 

ghost 

Of  him  that  haunts  the  ingles  of  this  coast, 
Murdered   and    unacquit   while   that   man's 

father 
Liveth." 

Then  leapt  up  two,  and  both  together 
Cried,  "  Give  us  Troy  to  sack,  give  us  our 

fill 
Of  gold  and  bronze  ;  give  us  to  burn  and 

kill !  " 

And  Aias  said,  "  Are  there  no  women  then 
In  Troy,  but  only  her  ?     And  are  we  men 
Or  virgins  of  Athen6  ?  "     And  the  dream 
Of  her  who  served  that  dauntless  One  made 

gleam 

His  shifting  eyes,  and  stretcht  his  fleshy  lips 
Behind  his  beard. 

Then  stood  that  prince  of  ships 


52  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  shipmen,  great  Odysseus  ;  with  one  hand 
He  held  the  staff,  with  one  he  took  command  ; 
And  thus  in  measured  tones,  with  word  intent 
Upon  the  deed,  fierce  but  not  vehement, 
Drave  in  his  dreadful  message.     At  his  sight 
Clamour  died  down,  even  as  the  wind  at  night 
Falls  and  is  husht  at  rising  of  the  moon. 
"  Ye  chieftains  of  Achaia,  not  so  soon 
Is  strife  of  ten  years  rounded  to  a  close, 
Neither  so  are  men  seated,  friends  or  foes. 
For  say  thus  lightly  we  renounced  the  meed 
Of  our  long  travail,  gave  so  little  heed 
To  our  great  dead  as  find  in  one  man's  joy 
Full  recompense  for  all  we've  sunk  in  Troy — 
Wives    desolate,    children    fatherless,    lands, 

gear, 

Stock  without  master,  wasting  year  by  year  ; 
Youth  past,  age  creeping  on,  friends,  brothers, 

sons 

Lost  in  the  void,  gone  where  no  respite  runs 
For  sorrow,  but  the  darkness  covers  all — 
What  name  should  we  bequeath  our  sons  but 

thrall, 

Or  what  beside  a  name,  who  let  go  by 
Ilios  the  rich  for  others'  usury  ? 
And  have  the  blessed  Gods  no  say  in  this  ? 
Think  you  they  be  won  over  by  a  kiss — 
Here  the  Queen,  she,  the  unwearied  aid 
Of  all  our  striving,  Pallas  the  war-maid  ? 
Have  they  not  vowed,  and  will  ye  scant  their 

hate, 


HELEN  REDEEMED  53 

Havoc  on  Ilios  from  gate  to  gate, 
And  for  her  towers  abasement  to  the  dust  ? 
Behold,  O  King,  lust  shall  be  paid  with  lust, 
And  treachery  with  treachery,  and  for  blood 
Blood  shall  be  shed.     Therefore  let  loose  the 

flood 

Of  our  pent  passion  ;  break  her  gates  in,  raze 
The  walls  of  her,  cumber  her  pleasant  ways 
With  dead  men  ;  set  on  havoc,  sate  with  spoil 
Men  ravening  ;  get  corn  and  wine  and  oil, 
Women  to  clasp  in  love,  gold,  silken  things, 
Harness  of  flashing  bronze,  swords,  meed  of 

kings, 

Chariots  and  horses  swifter  than  the  wind 
Which,  coursing  Ida,  leaves  ruin  behind 
Of  snapt  tall  trees  :  not  faster  shall  they  fall 
Than  Trojan  spears  once  we  are  on  the  wall. 
So  only  shall  ye  close  this  agelong  strife, 
Nor  by  redemption  of  a  too  fair  wife, 
Now  smiling,  now  averse,  now  hot,  now  cold, 
O  Menelaus,  may  the  tale  be  told  ! 
Nay,  but  by  slaying  of  Achilles'  slayer, 
By  the  betrayal  of  the  bed-betrayer, 
By  not  withholding  from  the  spoils  of  war 
Men  freeborn,  nor  from  them  that  beaten  are 
Their  rueful  wages.     Ilios  must  fall." 

He  said,  and  sat,  and  heard  the  acclaim  of 

all, 

Save  of  the  sons  of  Atreus,  who  sat  glum, 
One  flusht,  one  white  as  parchment,  and  both 

dumb  ; 


54  HELEN  REDEEMED 

One  raging  to  be  contraried,  one  torn 

By   those    two   passions   wherewith   he    was 

born, 
The  lust  for  body's  ease  and  lust  of  gain. 

Then  slow  he  rose,  Mykenai's  king  of  men, 
Gentle  his  voice  to  hear.     "  Laertes'  son," 
He  said,  but  'twas  Nestor  he  looked  upon, 
The  wise  old  man  who  sat  beside  his  chair, 
Mild  now  who  once,  a  lion,  kept  his  lair 
Untoucht  of  any,  or  if  e'er  he  left  it, 
Left  it  for  prey,  and  held  that  when  he  reft  it 
From    foe,    or    over   friend    made   stronger 

claim  : 
"  Laertes'   son,"  the  king  said,    "  all    men's 

fame 

Reports  thee  just  and  fertile  in  device  ; 
And  as  the  friend  of  God  great  is  thy  price 
To  us  of  Argos  ;  for  without  the  Gods 
How  should  we  look  to  trace  the  limitless 

roads 
That  weave  a  criss-cross  'twixt  us  and  our 

home  ? 

Go  to  now,  some  will  stay  and  other  some 
Take  to  the  sea-ways,  hasty  to  depart, 
Not  warfaring  as  men  fare  to  the  mart, 
To  best  a  neighbour  in  some  chaffering  bout ; 
But  honour  is  the  prize  wherefor  they  go  out, 
And  having  that,  dishonoured  are  content 
To  leave  the  foe — that  is  best  punishment. 
Natheless  since  men    there    be,    Argives   ot 

worth, 


HELEN  REDEEMED  55 

Who  needs  must  shed  more  blood  ere  they 

go  forth — 

As  if  of  blood  enough  had  not  been  spilt ! — 
Devise  thou  with  my  brother  if  thou  wilt, 
Noble  Odysseus,  seeking  how  compose 
His  honour  with  thy  judgment.     Well  he 

knows 

Thy  singleness  of  heart,  deep  ponderer, 
Lover  of  a  fair  wife,  and  sure  of  her. 
Come,  let  this  be  the  sum  of  our  debate." 
a  Content  you,"  Menelaus  said,  "  I  wait 
Upon  thy  word,  thou  fosterling  of  Zeus." 

Then  said  Odysseus,  "  Be  it  as  you  choose, 
Ye  sons  of  Atreus.     Then,  advised,  I  say 
Let  me  win  into  Troy  as  best  I  may, 
Seek  out  the  lovely  lady  of  our  land 
And  learn  of  her  the  watchwords,  see  how 

stand 

The  sentries,  how  the  warders  of  the  gates ; 
The  strength,  how  much  it  is  ;  what  prize 

awaits 
To  crown  our  long  endeavour.     These  things 

learned, 

Back  to  the  ships  I  come  ere  yet  are  burned 
The  watch-fires  of  the  night,  before  the  sun 
Hath  urged  his  steeds  the  course  they  are  to 

run 

Out  of  the  golden  gateways  of  the  East." 
Which  all   agreed,  and  Helen's  lord  not 
least. 


SIXTH  STAVE 

HELEN    AND    PARIS  J    ODYSSEUS    AND    HELEN 

LIKE  as  the  sweet  free  air,  when  maids  the 

doors 

And  windows  open  wide,  wanders  the  floors 
And  all  the  passage  ways  about  the  house, 
Keen  marshal  of  the  sun,  or  serious 
The  cool  gray  light  of  morning  'gins  to  peer 
Ere  yet  the  household  stirs,  or  chanticlere 
Calls  hinds  to  labour  but  hints  not  the  glee 
Nor  full-flood  glory  of  the  day  to  be 
When    round    about    the    hill  the   sun  shall 

swim 

And  burn  a  sea-path — so  demure  and  slim 
Went  Helen  on  her  business  with  swift  feet 
And  light,  yet  recollected,  and  her  sweet 
Secret  held  hid,   that  she  was  loved  where 

need 
Called    her    to    mate,    and    that   she    loved 

indeed — 

Ah,  sacred  calm  of  wedlock,  passion  white 
Of  lovers  knit  in  Herd's  holy  light ! 
56 


HELEN  REDEEMED  57 

But  while  in  early  morn  she  wonned  alone 
And  Paris  slept,  shrill  rose  her  singing  tone, 
And  brave  the  light  on  kindled  cheeks  and 

eyes  : 

Brave  as  her  hope  is,  brave  the  flag  she  flies. 
Then,  as  the  hour  drew  on  when  the  sun's 

rim 

Should  burn  a  sheet  of  gold  to  herald  him 
On  Ida's  snowy  crest,  lithe  as  a  pard 
For    some    lord's    pleasuring    encaged    and 

barred 

She  paced  the  hall  soft-footed  up  and  down, 
Lightly  and  feverishly  with  quick  frown 
Peered  shrewdly   this  way,  that  way,  like  a 

bird 

That  on  the  winter  grass  is  aye  deterred 
His   food  -  searching   by    hint    of   unknown 

snare 

In  thicket,  holt  or  bush,  or  lawn  too  bare  ; 
Anon  stopped,  lip  to  finger,  while  the  tide 
Beat  from  her  heart  against  her  shielded  side — 
Now  closely  girdled  went  she  like  a  maid — 
And  then  slipt  to  the    window,   where   she 

stayed 

But  minutes  three  or  four  ;  for  soon  she  past 
Out  to  the  terrace,  there  to  be  at  last 
Downgazing  on  her  glory,  which  her  king 
Reflected  up  in  every  motioning 
And  flux  of  his  high  passion.     Only  here 
She    triumphed,   nor    cared   she  to  ask  how 

near 


58  HELEN  REDEEMED 

The  end  of  Troy,  nor  hazarded  a  guess 
What  deeds  must  do  ere  that  could  come  to 

pass. 

To  her  the  instant  homage  held  all  joy — 
And  what  to  her  was  Sparta,  or  what  Troy 
Beside  the  bliss  of  that  ? 

Or  Paris,  what 

Was  he,  who  daily,  nightly  plained  his  lot 
To  have  risked  all  the  world  and  ten  years 

loved 

This  woman,  now  to  find  her  nothing  moved 
By  what  he  had  done  with  her,  what  desired 
To  do  ?     And  more  she  chilled  the  less  he 

tired, 

And  more  he  ventured  less  she  cared  recall 
What  was  to  her  of  nothing  worth,  or  all  : 
All  if  the  King  required  it  of  her,  nought 
If  he  who  now  could  take  it.     It  was  bought, 
And  his  by  bargain  :  let  him  have  it  then  ; 
But  let  it  be  for  giving  once  again, 
And  all  the  rubies  in  the  world's  deep  heart 
Could  fetch  no  price  beside  it. 

Yet  apart 
She    brooded   on    the    man    who    held    her 

chained, 

Minister  to  his  pleasure,  and  disdained 
Him  more  the  more  herself  she   must  dis- 
parage, 

Reflecting  on  him  all  her  hateful  carriage, 
So  old,  incredible,  so  flat,  so  stale, 
No  more  to  be  recalled  than  old  wife's  tale  : 


HELEN  REDEEMED  59 

And  scorned  him,  saw  him  neither  high  nor 

low, 

Not  villain  and  not  hero,  who  would  go 
Midway  'twixt  baseness  and  nobility, 
And  not  be  fierce,  if  fierceness  hurt  a  flea 
Before  his  eyes.     The  man  loved  one  thing 

more 
Than  all  the  world,  and  made  his  mind  a 

whore 

To  minister  his  heart's  need,  for  a  price. 
All  which  she  loathed,  yet  chose  not  to  be 

nice 
With  the  snug-revelling  wretch,  her  master 

yet, 

Whose  leaguer,  though  she  scorned  it,  was  no 

fret ; 

But  lift  on  wings  of  her  exalted  mood, 
She  let  him  touch  and  finger  what  he  would, 
Unconscious  of  his  being — as  he  saw, 
And  with  a  groan,  whipt  sharp  upon  the  raw 
Of  his  esteem,  "  Ah,  cruel  art  thou  turned," 
Would  cry,    "Ah,    frosty    fire,  where  I  am 

burned, 

Yet  dying  bless  the  flame  that  is  my  bane  ! " 
With  which  to  clasp  her  closer  was  he  fain, 
To  touch  in  love,  and  feast  his  eyes  to  see 
Her  quiver  at  his  touch,  and  laugh  to  be 
The  plucker  of  such  chords  of  such  a  rote  ; 
And  laughing  stoop  and  kiss  her  milky  throat, 
Then  see  her  shut  eyes  hide  what  he  had  done. 
"  Nay,  shut  them  not  upon  me,  nay,  nor  shun 


60  HELEN  REDEEMED 

My  worship  !  "     So  he  said  ;  but  she,  "  They 

fade, 

But  are  not  yet  so  old  as  thou  hast  made 
The    soul    thou    pinnest    here    beneath    my 

breasts 
Which  you  have  loved  too  well."     His  hand 

he  rests 

Over  one  fair  white  bosom  like  a  cup, 
And  leaning,  of  her  lips  his  own  must  sup  ; 
But  she  will  not,  but  gently  doth  refuse  it, 
Without  a  reason,  save  she  doth  not  choose  it. 

Then  when  he  flung  away,  she  sat  alone 
And   nursed  her  hope  and  sorrow,  both  in 

one 

Perturbed  bosom  ;  and  her  fingers  wove 
White  webs  as  far  afield  her  wits  did  rove 
Perpending  and  perpending.     So  frail,  so  fair, 
So  faint  she  seemed,  a  wraith  you  had  said 

there, 

A  woman  dead,  and  not  in  lovely  flesh. 
But  all  the  while  she  writhed  within  the  mesh 
Of  circumstance,  and  fiercely  flamed  her  rage  : 
"  O  slave,  O  minion,  thing  kept  in  a  cage 
For  this  sleek  master's  handling  !  "     So  she 

fumed 
What  time  her  wide  eyes  sought  all  ways,  or 

loomed 

Like  winter  lakes  dark  in  a  field  of  snow, 
And  still ;  nor  lifted  they  their  pall  of  woe 
Responsive    to    her   heart,    nor    flashed   the 

thrill 


HELEN  REDEEMED  61 

That  knew,  which  said,  "  A  true  man  loveth 
me  still." 

That  same  night,  as  she  used,  fair  Helen 

went 

Among  the  suppliants  in  the  hall,  and  lent 
To  each  who  craved  the  bounty  of  her  grace, 
Her  gentle  touch  on  wounds,  her  pitiful  face 
To  beaten  eyes'  dumb  eloquence,  that  art 
She  above  all  could  use,  to  stroke  the  heart 
And  plead  compassion  in  bestowing  it. 
So  with  her  handmaids  busy  did  she  flit 
From    man   to   man,   'mid    outlaws,    broken 

blades, 
Robbed  husbandmen,  their  robbers,  phantoms, 

shades 

Of  what  were  men  till  hunger  made  them  less 
Than  man  can  be  and  still  know  uprightness  ; 
And  whom  she  spake  with  kindly  words  and 

cheer 

In  him  the  light  of  hope  began  to  peer 
And. glimmer  in  his  eyes  ;  and  him  she  fed 
And  nourisht,  then  sent  homeward  comforted 
A  little,  to  endure  a  little  more. 

Now  among  these,  hard  by  the  outer  door, 
She  marked  a  man  unbent  whose  sturdy  look 
Never  left  hers  for  long,  whose  shepherd's  hook 
Seemed  not  a  staff  to  prop  him,  whose  bright 

eyes 

Burned  steadily,  as  fire  when  the  wind  dies. 
Great  in  the  girth  was  he,  but  not  so  tall 


62  HELEN  REDEEMED 

By  a  full  hand  as  many  whom  the  wall 
Showed  like  gaunt  channel-posts  by  an  ebb 

tide 

Left  stranded  in  a  world  of  ooze.     Beside 
His  knees  she  kneeled,  and  to  his  wounded 

feet 
Applied  her  balms  ;    but  he,  from  his   low 

seat 

Against  the  wall,  leaned  out  and  in  her  ear 
Whispered,   but  so  that  no   one  else   could 

hear, 
"  Other  than  my  wounds  are  there  for  thy 

pains, 

Lady,  and  deeper.  One,  a  grievous,  drains 
The  great  heart  of  a  king,  and  one  is  fresh, 
Though  ten  years  old,  in  the  sweet  innocent 

flesh 
Of  a  young  child." 

Nothing  said  she,  but  stoopt 
The  closer  to  her  task.      He  thought  she 

droopt 
Her  head,  he  knew  she  trembled,  that  her 

shoulder 
Twitcht  as  she  wrought  her  task  ;  so  he  grew 

bolder, 

Saying,  "  But  thou  art  pitiful !      I  know 
That  thou  wilt  wash  their  wounds." 

She  whispered  "  Oh, 
Be  sure  of  me  !  " 

Then  he,  "  Let  us  have  speech 
Secret  together  out  of  range  or  reach 


HELEN  REDEEMED  63 

Of  prying  ears,  if  such  a  chance  may  be." 
Then  she  said,   "  Towards  morning  look 

for  me 
Here,  when  the  city  sleeps,  before  the  sun." 

So  till  the  glimmer  of  dawn  this  hardy  one 
Keepeth    the   watch   in    Paris'    house.      All 

night 

With  hard  unwinking  eyes  he  sat  upright, 
While  all  about  the  sleepers  lay,  like  stones 
Littered  upon  a  hill-top,  save  that  moans, 
Sighings  and  "  Gods,  have  pity  !"  showed  that 

they 

By  night  rehearsed  the  miseries  of  day, 
And  by  bread  lived  not  but  by  hope  deferred. 

Grimly  he  suffered  till  such  time  he  heard 
Helen's   light    foot    and    faint    and    gray  in 

the  mist 
Descried  her   slim    veiled   outline,    saw   her 

twist 

And  slip  between  the  sleepers  on  the  ground, 
Atiptoe  coming,  swift,  with  scarce  a  sound, 
Not  faltering  in  fear.     No  fear  she  had. 
From  head  to  foot  a  sea-blue  mantle  clad 
Her  lovely  shape,  from  which  her  pale  keen 

face 

Shone  like  the  moon  in  frosty  sky.      No  case 
Was  his  to  waver,  for  her  eyes  spake  true 
As  Heaven  upon  the  world.     Him  then  she 

drew 

To  follow  her,  out  of  the  house,  to  where 
The  ilex  trees  stood  darkly,  and  the  air 


64  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Struck  sharp  and  chill  before  the  dawn's  first 

breath. 

There  stood  a  little  altar  underneath 
An  image  :  Artemis  the  quick  deerslayer, 
High- girdled  and  barekneed  ;  to  Whom  in 

prayer 
First    bowed,    then   stood    erect   with    lifted 

hands, 

Palms  upward,  Helen.     "  Lady  of  open  lands 
And  lakes  and  windy  heights,"  prayed  she, 

"  so  do 

To  me  as  to  Amphion's  wife  when  blew 
The  wind  of  thy  high  anger,  and  she  stared 
On  sudden  death  that  not  one  dear  life  spared 
Of  all  she  had — so  do  to  me  if  false 
I  prove  unto  this  Argive  !  " 

Then  the  walls 

And  gates  of  Ilios  she  traced  in  the  sand, 
And  told  him  of  the  watch-towers,  and  how 

manned 
The  gates  at  night ;  and  where  the  treasure 

was, 

And  where  the  houses  of  the  chiefs.     But  as 
She  faltered  in  the  tale,  "  Show  now/'  said  he, 
"  Where  Priam's  golden  palace  is." 

But  she 
Said,  "  Nay,  not  that  ;  for  since  the  day  of 

shame 
That  brought   me  in,   no  word  or  look  of 

blame 
Hath  he  cast  on  me.    Nay,  when  Hector  died 


HELEN  REDEEMED  65 

And  all  the  city  turned  on  me  and  cried 
My  name,  as  to  an  outcast  dog  men  fling 
Howling  and  scorn,  not  one  word  said  the 

King. 
And  when  they  hissed  me  in  the  shrines  of 

the  Gods, 
And    women    egged    their    children  on  with 

nods 

To  foul  the  house-wall,  or  in  passing  spat 
Towards  it,  he,  the  old  King,  came  and  sat 
Daily  with  me,  and  often  on  my  hair 
Would  lay  a  gentle  hand.     Him  thou  shalt 

spare 
For  my  sake  who  betray  him." 

Odysseus  said, 
"  Well,  thou   shalt  speak   no   more  of  him. 

His  bed 

Is  not  of  thy  making,  nor  mine,  but  his 
Who  hath  thee  here  a  cageling,  thy  Paris. 
Him  he  begat  as  well  as  Hector.     Now 
Let  Priam  look  to  reap  what  he  did  sow." 
But  when  glad  light  brimmed  o'er  the  cup 

of  earth 
And  shrill  birds  called  forth  men  to  grief  or 

mirth 

As  might  afford  their  labour  under  the  sun, 
Helen  advised  how  best  to  get  him  gone, 
And  fetched  a  roll  of  cord,  the  which  made 

fast 

About  a  stanchion,  about  him  next  she  cast, 
About  and  about  until  the  whole  was  round 


66  HELEN  REDEEMED 

His  body,  and  the  end  to  his  arm  she  bound  ; 
Then   showed  him   in  the  wall  where  best 

foothold 
Might  be,  and  watcht  him  down  as  fold  by 

fold 

He  paid  the  cable  out ;  and  as  he  paid 
So  did  she  twist  it,  till  the  coil  was  made 
As  it  had  been  at  first.     Then  watcht  she  him 
Stride  o'er  the  plain  until  he  twinkled  dim 
And  sank  into  the  mist. 

That  day  came  not 
King  Menelaus  to  the  trysting  spot  ; 
But  ere  Odysseus  left  her  she  had  ta'en 
A  crocus  flower  which  on  her  breast  had  lain, 
And  toucht  it  with  her  lips.     "  Give  this," 

said  she, 
"  To  my  good  lord  who  hath  seen  the  flower 

in  me." 


SEVENTH  STAVE 

THEY    BUILD    THE    HORSE    AND    ENTER    IN 

WHAT    weariness  of  wind   and  wave    and 

foam 

Was  to  be  for  Odysseus  ere  his  home 
Of  scrub  and  crag  and  scanty  pasturage 
He  saw  again  !     What  stress  of  pilgrimage 
Through    roaring    waterways    and    cities    of 

men, 

What  sojourn  among  folk  beyond  the  ken 
Of  mortal  seafarers  in  homelier  seas, 
More  trodden  lands  !     Sure,  none  had  earned 

his  ease 

As  he,  that  windless  morning  when  he  drew 
Near  silent  Ithaca,  gray  in  misty  blue, 
And  wondered  on  the  old  familiar  scene, 
Which  was  to  him  as  it  had  never  been 
Aforetime.     Say,  had  he  but  had  inkling 
That  in  this  hour  all  that  long  wandering 
Of  his  was  self-ensured,  had  he  been  bold 
To  plan  and  carry  what  must  now  be  told 
Of  this  too  hardy  champion  ?     Solve  it  you 
67 


68  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Whose  chronicling  is  over.     Mine's  to  do. 

All  day  until  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
Devising  how  to  use  what  he  had  won 
Odysseus  stood  ;  for  nothing  within  walls 
Was  hid,  he  knew  the  very  trumpet-calls 
Wherewith  they  turned  the  guard  out,  and 

the  cries 

The  sentries  used  to  hearten  or  advise 
The  city  in  the  watches  of  the  night. 
Once  in,  no  hope  for  Ilios  ;  but  his  plight 
No  better  stood  for  that,  since  no  way  in 
Could  he  conceive,  nor  entry  hope  to  win 
For  any  force  enough  to  seize  the  gate 
And  open  for  the  host. 

But  then  some  Fate, 

Or,  some  men  say,  Athene  the  gray-eyed, 
Ever  his  friend,  never  far  from  his  side, 
Prompted  him  look   about  him.      Then  he 

heeds 

A  stork  set  motionless  in  the  dry  reeds 
That  lift  their  withered  arms,  a  skeleton  host, 
Long  after  winter  and  her  aching  frost 
Are  gone,   and   rattle   in    the    spring's    soft 

breeze 

Dry  bones,  as  if  to  daunt  the  budding  trees 
And  warn  them  of  the  summer's  wrath  to 

come. 

Still  sat  the  bird,  as  fast  asleep  or  numb 
With  cold,  her  head  half-buried  in  her  breast, 
With  close -shut  eyes  :    a  dead  bird  on  the 

nest, 


HELEN  REDEEMED  69 

Arrow-shot — for  behold  !  a  wound  she  bore 
Mid-breast,   which   stooping   to,   to  see   the 

more, 

Lo,  forth  from  it  came  busy,  one  by  one, 
Light-moving   ants  !      So  she   to   her  death 

had  gone 
These  many  days  ;  and  there  where  she  lost 

life 

Her  carrion  shell  with  it  again  was  rife. 
So  teems  the  earth,  that  ere  our  clay  be  rotten 
New  hosts  sweep  clean  the  hearth,  our  deeds 

forgotten. 

But  stooping  still,  Odysseus  saw  her  not 
Nor  her  brisk  tenantry  ;  afar  his  thought, 
And  after  it  his  vision,  crossed  the  plain 
And  lit  on  Ilios,  dim  and  lapt  in  rain, 
Piled  up   like  blocks  which  Titans  rear   to 

mark 

Where  hero  of  their  breed  sits  stiff  and  stark, 
Spear  in  dead  hand,  and  dead  chin  on  dead 

knees  ; 
And  "  Ha,"  cried  he,  "  proud  hinderer  of  our 

ease, 

Now  hold  I  thee  within  my  hollowed  hand  !  " 
Straightway  returning,  Troy's  destruction 

planned, 

He  sends  for  one  Epeios,  craftsman  good, 
And  bids  him  frame  him  out  a  horse  in  wood, 
Big-bellied  as  a  ship  of  sixty  oars 
Such  as  men  use  for  traffic,  not  in  wars, 
Nor  piracy,  but  roomy,  deep  in  the  hold, 


70  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Where  men  may  shelter  if  needs  be  from  cold, 
Or  sleep  between  their  watches.     "  Scant  not 

you," 
He    said,    "  your    timber    not    your    sweat. 

Drive  through 

This  horse  for  me,  Epeios,  as  if  we 
Awaited  it  to  give  the  word  for  sea 
And  Hellas  and  our  wives  and  children  dear  ; 
For  this  is  true,  without  it  we  stay  here 
Another  ten-year  shift,  if  by  main  force 
We  would  take  Troy,  but  ten  days  with  my 

horse." 

So  to  their  task  Epeios  and  his  teams 
Went  valiantly,  and  heaved  and  hauled  great 

beams 

Of  timber  from  far  Ida,  and  hacked  amain 
And  rought  the  framework  out.     Then  to  it 

again 
They  went  with  adzes  and  their  smoothing 

tools, 
And  made  all  shapely  ;  next  bored  for  their 

dools 
With  augurs,  and   made   good   stock  on   to 

stock 
With  mortise  and  with  dovetail.     Last,  they 

lock 
The  frames  with  clamps,  the  nether  to  the 

upper, 

And  body  forth  a  horse  from  crest  to  crupper 
In  outline. 

Now  their  ribbing  must  be  shaped 


HELEN  REDEEMED  71 

With  axe  to  take  the   round,   first   rought, 

then  scraped 

With  adzes,  then  deep-mortised  in  the  frame 
To  bear  the  weight  of  so  much  mass,  whose 

fame 
When  all  was  won,  the  Earth  herself  might 

quake, 
Supporting  on  her  broad  breast.     Now  they 

take 
Planks  sawn   and    smoothed,   and   set   them 

over  steam 
Of  cauldrons  to   be  supple.      These  to  the 

beam 

Above  they  rivet  fast,  and  bend  them  down 
Till  from  the  belly  more  they  seem  to  have 

grown 

Than  in  it  to  be  ended,  so  well  sunk 
And    grooved    they    be.       There's    for    the 

horse's  trunk. 

But  as  for  head  and  legs,  these  from  the  block 
Epeios  carved,  and  fixed  them  on  the  stock 
With    long    pins    spigotted    and    clamps    of 

steel ; 

And  then  the  tail,  downsweeping  to  the  heel, 
He  carved  and  rivetted  in  place.     Yet  more 
He  did  ;  for  cunningly  he  made  a  door 
Beneath  the  belly  of  him,  in  a  part 
Where  Nature  lends  her  aid  to  sculptor's  art, 
And  few  would  have   the  thought  to  look 

for  it, 
Or  eyes  so  keen  to  find,  if  they'd  the  wit. 


72  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Greatly  stood  he,  hogmaned,  with  wrinkled 

neck 

And  wrying  jaw,  as  though  upon  the  check 
One  rode  him.     On  three  legs  he  stood,  with 

one 

Pawing  the  air,  as  if  his  course  to  run 
Was  overdue.     Almost  you  heard  the  champ 
And  clatter  of  the  bit,  almost  the  stamp 
And  scrape  of  hoof ;  almost  his  fretful  crest 
He  seemed  to  toss  on  high.     So  much  confest 
The  wondering  host.     "  But  where's  the  man 

to  ride  ? " 

They  askt.     Odysseus  said,  "  He'll  go  inside. 
Yet  there  shall  seem  a  rider — nay,  let  two 
Bespan  so  brave  a  back."     Epeios  anew 
He  spurred,  and  had  his  horsemen  as  he  would, 
Two  noble  youths,  star-frontletted,  but  nude 
Of  clothing,  and  unarmed,  who  sat  as  though 
Centaurs  not  men,  and  with  their  knees  did 

show 

The  road  to  travel.     Next  Odysseus  bid, 
"  Gild  thou  me  him,  Epeios  "  ;  which  he  did, 
And  burnisht  after,  till  he  blazed  afar 
Like  that  great  image  which  men  hail  for  a 

star 

Of  omen  holy,  image  without  peer, 
Chryselephantine  Athene  with  her  spear, 
Shining  o'er  Athens  ;  to  which  their  course 

they  set 
When  homeward  faring  through  the  seaways 

wet 


HELEN  REDEEMED  73 

From  Poros  or  from  Nauplia,  or  some 
From  the  Euboean  gulf,  or  where  the  foam 
Washes  the  feet  of  Sounion,  on  whose  brow 
Like  a  white  crown  the  shafts  burn  even  now. 
Such  was  the  shaping  of  the  Horse  of  Wood, 
The  bane  of  Ilios. 

Ordered  now  they  stood 
Midway  between  the  ships  and  Troy,  and  cast 
The  lots,  who  should  go  in  from  first  to  last 
Of  all  the  chieftains  chosen.     And  the  lot 
Leapt  out  of  Diomede,  so  in  he  got 
And  sat  up  in  the  neck.     Next  Aias  went, 
Clasping  his  shins  and  blinking  as  he  bent, 
Working  the  ridges  of  his  villainous  brow, 
Like  puzzled,  patient  monkey  on  a  bough 
That  peers  with  bald,  far-seeing  eyes,  whose 

scope 
And    steadfastness   seem  there  to  mock  our 

hope  ; 

Next  Antiklos,  and  next  Meriones 
The  Cretan ;    next   good   Teukros.      After 

these 

Went  Pyrrhos,  Agamemnon,  King  of  men, 
Menestheus  and  Idomeneus,  and  then 
King  Menelaus  ;  and  Odysseus  last 
Entered    the    desperate   doorway,   and   made 

fast. 
And  all  the  Achaian  remnant,  seeing  their 

best 

To  this  great  venture  finally  addrest, 
Stood  awed  in  silence  ;  but  Nestor  the  old 


74  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Bade  bring  the  victims,  and  these  on  the  wold 
In  sight  of  Troy  he  slew,  and  so  uplift 
The  smoke  of  fire,  and  bloodsmoke,  as  a  gift 
Acceptable  to  Him  he  hailed  by  name 
Kronion,  sky-dweller,  who  giveth  fame, 
Lord   of  the   thunder  ;    to   Here   next,   and 

Her, 

The  Maid  of  War  and  holy  harbinger 
Of  Father  Zeus,  who  bears  the  Aegis  dread 
And  shakes  it  when  the  storm  peals  overhead 
And  lightning  splits  the  firmament  with  fire  ; 
Nor  yet  forgat  Poseidon,  dark-haired  sire 
Of  all  the  seas,  and  of  great  Ocean's  flow, 
The  girdler  of  the  world.     So  back  with  slow 
And  pondered  steps    they  all  returned,  and 

dark 
Swallowed  up  Troy,  and  Horse,  and  them 

who  stark 

Abode  within  it.     And  the  great  stars  shone 
Out  over  sea  and  land  ;  and  speaking  none, 
Nursing  his  arms,  nursing  within  his  breast 
His  enterprise,  each  hero  sat  at  rest 
Ignorant  of  the  world  of  day  and  night, 
Or  whether  he  should  live  to  see  the  light, 
Or  see  it  but  to  perish  in  this  cage. 
Only  Odysseus  felt  his  heart  engage 
The  blithelier  for  the  peril.     He  was  stuff 
That  thrives  by  daring,  nor  can  dare  enough. 

Three  days,  three  nights  before  the  Skaian 
Gate 


HELEN  REDEEMED  75 

Sat  they  within  their  ambush,  apt  for  fate  ; 
Three  days,  three  nights,  the  Trojans  swarmed 

the  walls 
And   towers  or  held  high  council    in    their 

halls 

What  this  portended,  this  o'erweening  mass 
Reared  up  so  high  no  man  stretching  could 

pass 

His  hand  over  the  crupper,  of  such  girth 
Of  haunch,  to  span  the  pair  no  man  on  earth 
Could  compass  with  both  arms.     But  most 

their  eyes 

Were  for  the  riders  who  in  godlike  guise 
Went  naked  into  battle,  as  Gods  use, 
Untrammerd  by  our  shifts    of  shields    and 

shoes, 

As  if  we  dread  the  earth  whereof  we  are. 
Sons  of  God,  these  :  for  bore  not  each  a  star 
Ablaze  upon  his  forelock  ?     Lo,  they  say, 
Kastor  and  Polydeukes,  who  but  they, 
Come  in  to  save  their  sister  at  the  last, 
And  war  for  Troy,  and   root  King  Priam 

fast 

In  his  demesne,  him  and  his  heirs  for  ever  ! 
Now  call  they  soothsayers  to  make  endeavour 
With  engines  of  their  craft  to  read  the  thing  ; 
But  others  urge  them  hale  it  to  the  King — 
"  Let  him  dispose,"  they  say,  "  of  it  and  us, 
And  order  as  he  will,  from  Pergamos 
To    heave    it   o'er    the  sheer  and    bring   to 

wreck  ; 


7  6  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Or  burn  with  fire  ;  or  harbour  to  bedeck 
The  temple  of  some  God  :  of  three  ways  one. 
Here  it  cannot  abide  to  flout  the  sun 
With  arrogant  flash  for  every  beam  of  his." 

Herewith  agreed  the  men  of  mysteries, 
Raking  the  bloodsick  earth  to  have  the  truth, 
And  getting  what  they  lookt  for,  as  in  sooth 
A  man  will  do.     So  then  they  all  fell  to't 
To  hale  with  cords  and  lever  foot  by  foot 
The  portent ;  and  as  frenzy  frenzy  breeds, 
And  what  one  has  another  thinks  he  needs, 
So  to  a  straining  twenty  other  score 
Lent   hands,   and   ever  from    the    concourse 

more 

Of  them,  who  hauled  as   if  Troy's  life  de- 
pended 

On  hastening  forward  that  wherein  it  ended. 
So  came  the  Horse  to  Troy,  so  was  filled  up 
With  retribution  that  sweet  loving-cup 
Paris  had  drunk  to  Helen  overseas — 
The  cup  which  whoso  drains  must  taste  the 
lees. 


EIGHTH   STAVE 

THE    HORSE    IN    TROY  ;    THE    PASSION    OF 
KASSANDRA 

HIGH  over  Troy  the  windy  citadel, 
Pergamos,  towereth,  where  is  the  cell 
And  precinct  of  Athene.     There,  till  reived, 
They    kept    the    Pallium,    sacred    and    still 

grieved 

By  all  who  held  the  city  consecrate 
To  Her,  as  first  it  was,  till  she  learned  hate 
For  what  had  once  been  lovely,  and  let  in 
The  golden  Aphrodite,  and  sweet  sin 
To  ensnare  Prince  Paris  and  send  him  awooing 
A  too-fair  wife,  to  be  his  own  undoing 
And  Troy's  and  all  the  line's  of  Dardanos, 
That  traced  from  Zeus  to  him,  from  him  to 

Tros, 

From  Tros  to  Ilos,  to  Laomedon, 
Who  begat  Priam  as  his  second  son. 
But  out  of  Troy  Assarakos  too  came, 
From  whom  came  Kapys  ;  and  from  him  the 

fame 

77 


7  8  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Of  good  Anchises,  with  whom  Kypris  lay 
In  love  and  got  Aineias.     He,  that  day 
Of  dreadful  wrath,  safe  only  out  did  come, 
And    builded    great   Troy's   line   in    greater 

Rome. 
Now  to  the   forecourt  flock    the  Trojan 

folk 
To   view  the  portent.     Now  they  bring  to 

yoke 

Priam's  white  horses,  that  the  stricken  king 
Himself  may  see  the  wonder-working  thing, 
Himself  invoke  with  his  frail  trembling  voice 
The   good    Twin  Brethren   for  his  aid   and 

Troy's. 

So  presently  before  it  Priam  stands, 
Father  and  King  of  Troy,  with  feeble  hands 
And    mild    pale    eyes  wherein   Grief  like    a 

ghost 

Sits  ;  and  about  him  all  he  has  not  lost 
Of  all  his  children  gather,  with  grief-worn 
Andromache  and  her  first,  and  last,  born, 
The  boy  Astyanax.     And  there  apart 
The  wise  Aineias  stands,  of  steadfast  heart 
But  not  acceptable — for  some  old  grudge 
Inherited — Aineias,  silent  judge 
Of  folly,  as  he  had  been  since  the  sin 
Of  Paris  knelled  the  last  days  to  begin. 
But  he  himself,  that  Paris,  came  not  out, 
But    kept    his    house    in    these    his    days    of 

doubt, 
Uncertain  of  his  footing,  being  of  those 


HELEN  REDEEMED  79 

On    whom    the    faintest    breath    of    censure 

blows 

Chill  as  the  wind  that  from  the  frozen  North 
Palsies  the  fount  o'  the  blood.     He  dared  not 

forth 
Lest  men  should  see — and  how  not  see  ?  he 

thought — 
That  Helen  held  him  lightlier  than  she  ought. 

But  Helen  came  there,  gentle  as  of  old, 
Self-held,  sufficient  to  herself,  not  bold, 
Not  modest  nor  immodest,  taking  none 
For  judge  or  jury  of  what  she    may   have 

done  ; 

But  doing  all  she  was  to  do,  sedate, 
Intent  upon  it  and  deliberate. 
As  she  had  been  at  first,  so  was  she  now 
When  she  had  put  behind  her  her  old  vow 
And  had  no  pride  but  thinking  of  her  new. 
But  she  was  lovelier,  of  more  burning  hue, 
And  in  her  eyes  there  shone,  for  who  could 

see, 

A  flickering  light,  half  scare  and  half  of  glee, 
Which   made  those   iris'd  orbs   to  wax  and 

wane 

Like  to  the  light  of  April  days,  when  rain 
And  sun  contend  the  sovereignty.     She  kept 
Beside  the  King,  and  only  closer  crept 
To  let  him  feel  her  there  when  some  harsh 

word 

Or  look  made  her  heart  waver.     Many  she 
heard, 


8o  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  much  she  saw,  but  knew  the  King  her 

friend, 

Him  only  since  great  Hector  met  his  end. 
And  while  so  pensive  and  demure  she  stood, 
With  one  thin  hand  just  peeping  at  her  hood, 
The  which  close -folded    her    from   head  to 

knee, 
Her    heart  within   her   bosom   hailed   her — 

"  Free  ! 

Free  from  thy  thralldom,  free  to  save,  to  give, 
To  love,  be  loved  again,  and  die  to  live !  " 
So  she — yet  who  had  said,  to  see  her  there, 
The  sweet-faced  woman,  blue-eyed,  still  and 

fair 
As  windless  dawn  in  some  quiet   mountain 

place, 
To  such  a  music  let  her  passion  race  ? 

Now   hath  the  King   his  witless  welcome 

paid, 
And   now   invoked  the  gods,  and   the   cold 

shade 

Which  once  was  Hector  ;  now,  being  upheld 
By  two  his  sons,  with  shaking  hands  of  eld 
The  knees  of  those  two   carved  and  gilded 

youths 
He   touches   while   he    prays,    and    praying 

soothes 

The  crying  heart  of  Helen.     But  not  so 
Kassandra  views  him  pray,  that  well  of  woe 
Kassandra,  she  whom  Loxias  deceived 


HELEN  REDEEMED  81 

With  gift  to  see,  and  not  to  be  believed  ; 
To  read  within  the  heart  of  Time  all  truth 
And  see  men  blindly  blunder,  to  have  ruth, 
To  burn,   to  cry,  "Out,   haro ! "   and  be  a 

mock — 

Ah,   and  to   know  within   this  gross  wood- 
block 

The  fate  of  all  her  kindred,  and  her  own, 
Unthinkable  !     Now  with  her  terror  blown 
Upon  her  face,  to  blanch  it  like  a  sheet, 
Now  with  bare  frozen  eyes  which  only  greet 
The  viewless  neighbours  of  our  world    she 

strips 

The  veil  and  shrieketh  Troy's  apocalypse  : 
"  Woe  to  thee,   Ilios  !     The  fire,  the  fire  ! 

And  rain, 
Rain  like  to  blood  and  tears  to  drown  the 

plain 

And  cover  all  the  earth  up  in  a  shroud, 
One    great    death-clout    for    thee,    Ilios    the 

proud  ! 
Touch  not,  handle  not "     Outraged  then 

she  turned 
To  Helen — "  O  thou,  for  whom  Troy  shall 

be  burned, 
O   ruinous  face,   O  breasts  made  hard  with 

gall, 

Now  are  ye  satisfied  ?     Ye  shall  have  all, 
All  Priam's  sons  and  daughters,  all  his  race 
Gone   quick   to  death,  hailing  thee,  ruinous 
face  !  " 


82  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Her  tragic  mask  she  turned  upon  all  men  : 
"  The  lion  shall  have  Troy,  to  make  his  den 
Within  her  pleasant  courts,  in  Priam's  high 

seat 

Shall  blink  the  vulture,  sated  of  his  meat ; 
And  in  the  temples  emptied  of  their  Gods 
Bats  shall  make  quick  the  night,  and  panting 

toads 

Make  day  a  loathing  to  the  light  it  brings. 
Listen !      Listen !      they    flock    out ;      heed 

their  wings. 

The  Gods  flee  forth  of  this  accursed  haunt, 
And  leave  the  memory  of  it  an  old  chant, 
A  nursery  song,  an  idle  tale  that's  told 
To  children  when  your  own  sons  are  grown 

old 

In  Argive  bonds,  and  have  no  other  joy 
Than  whispering  to  their  offspring  tales  of 

Troy." 
Whereat  she  laught — O  bitter   sound   to 

hear  ! 
And  struggled  with  herself,  and  grinned  with 

fear 

And  misery  lest  even  now  her  fate 
Should  catch  her  and  she  be  believed  too  late. 
"  Is't  possible,  O  Gods  !     Are  ye  so  doomed 
As  not  to  know  this  Horse  a  mare,  enwombed 
Of  men   and   swords  ?     Know  ye  not  there 

unseen 
The    Argive    princes    wait    their    dam    shall 

yean  ? 


HELEN  REDEEMED  83 

Anon  creeps  Sparta  forth,  to  find  his  balm 
In  that  vile  woman  ;  forth  with  itching  palm 
Mykenai  creeps,  snuffing  what  may  be  won 
By   filching  ;    forth    Pyrrhos    the    braggart's 

son 

That  dared  do  violence  to  Hector  dead, 
But  while  he  lived  called  Gods  to  serve  his 

stead  ; 

Forth  Aias  like  a  beast,  to  mangle  me— 
These  things  ye  will  not  credit,  but  I  see." 
Then  once   again,  and  last,  she    turned   her 

switch 

On  Helen,  hissing,  "  Out  upon  thee,  witch, 
Smooth-handed  traitress,  speak    thy   secrets 

out 
That  we   may   know  thee,   how  thou  goest 

about 

Caressing,  with  a  hand  that  hides  a  knife, 
That  which  shall  prove  false  paramour,  false 

wife, 

Fair  as  the  sun  is  fair  that  smiles  and  slays" — 
And    then,    "  O    ruinous    face,    O    ruinous 

face  !  " 

But  nothing  more,  for  sudden  all  was  gone, 
Spent  by  her  passion.     Muttering,  faint  and 

wan 

Down  to  the  earth  she  sank,  and  to  and  fro 
Rocking,  drew  close  her  hood,  and  shrouded 

so, 
Her    wild   voice    drowning,   died    in    moans 

away. 


84  HELEN  REDEEMED 

But  Helen  stood  bright-eyed  as  glancing 

day, 

Near  by  the  Horse,  and  with  a  straying  hand 
Did  stroke  it  here  and  there,  and  listening 

stand, 

Leaning  her  head  towards  its  gilded  flank, 
And  strain  to  hear  men's  breath  behind  the 

plank  ; 
And  she  had  whispered  if  she   dared  some 

word 

Of  promise  ;  but  afraid  to  be  o'erheard, 
Leaned  her   head   close  and  toucht  it  with 

her  cheek, 
Then    drew  again    to   Priam,   schooled    and 

meek. 

But  Menelaus  felt  her  touch,  and  mum 
Sat  on,  nursing  his  mighty  throw  to  come  ; 
And  Aias  started,  with  some  cry  uncouth 
And  vile,  but  fast  Odysseus  o'er  his  mouth 
Clapt  hand,   and   checkt    his   foul    persever- 
ance 
To  seek  in  every  deed  his  own  essence. 

Now  when  the  ways  were  darkened,  and 

the  sun 

Sank  red  to  sea,  and  homeward  all  had  gone 
Save   that    distraught    Kassandra,    who   still 

served 
The  temple  whence   the   Goddess  long   had 

swerved, 
Athene,  hating  Troy  and  loving  them 


HELEN  REDEEMED  85 

Who  craved  to  snatch  and  make  a  diadem 
Of  Priam's  regal  crown  for  other  brows — 
She,  though  foredoomed  she  knew,  held  to 

her  vows, 

And  duly  paid  the  thankless  evening  rite — 
There  came  to  Paris'  house  late  in  the  night 
De'iphobus  his  brother,  young  and  trim, 
For  speech  with  fair-tressed  Helen,  for  whose 

slim 
And    budded   grace  long   had   he  sighed  in 

vain  ; 
And  found  her  in  full  hall,  and  showed  his 

pain 
And   need    of  her.      To   whom    when   she 

draws  close 

In  hot  and  urgent  crying  words  he  shows 
His  case,  hers  now,  that  here  she  tarry  not 
Lest  evil  hap  more  dread  than  she  can  wot  : 
"  For    this,"  he   says,  "  is  Troy's   extremest 

hour." 
But  when  to  that  she  bowed  her  head,  the 

power 

Of  his  high  vision  made  him  vehement : 
"  Dark  sets  the  sun,"  he  cried,  "  and  day  is 

spent "  ; 
But  she  said,  "Nay,  the  sun  will  rise  with 

day, 
And  I   shall   bathe  in  light,  lift  hands  and 

pray." 
"  Thou  lift   up  hands,  bound  down  to  a 

new  lord  ! " 


86  HELEN  REDEEMED 

He   mocked  ;   then  whispered,  "  Lady,  with 

a  sword 
I  cut  thy  bonds  if  so  thou  wilt." 

Apart 
She  moved  :    "  No  sword,  but  a  cry  of  the 

heart 
Shall  loose  me." 

Then  he  said,  "  Hear  what  I  cry 
From  my  heart  unto  thine  :  fly,  Helen,  fly  !  " 
Whereat  she  shook  her  head  and  sighed, 

"  Even  so, 

Brother,  I  fly  where  thou  canst  never  go. 
Far  go  I,  out  of  ken  of  thee  and  thy  peers." 
He   knew  not  what  she  would,  but  said, 

"  Thy  fears 

Are  of  the  Gods  and  holy  dooms  and  Fate, 
But  mine  the  present  menace  in  the  gate. 
This  I  would  save  thee." 

"  I  fear  it  not,"  said  she, 
"  But  wait  it  here." 

He  cried,  "  Here  shalt  thou  see 
Thy  Spartan,  and  his  bitter  sword-point  feel 
Against  thy  bosom." 

"  I  bare  it  to  the  steel," 
Saith  she.     He  then,  "  If  ever  man  deserved 

thee 

By  service,  I  am  he,  who'd  die  to  serve  thee." 
Glowing    she    heard    him,    being    quickly 

moved 

By    kindness,    loving    ever    where    she    was 
loved. 


HELEN  REDEEMED  87 

But    now  her  heart  was   fain   for  rest  ;   the 
night 

Called  her  to  sleep  and  dreams.     So  with  a 
light 

And  gentle  hand  upon  him,  "  Brother,  fare- 
well/' 

She  said,  "  I  stay  the  issue,  and  foretell 

Honour  therein  at  least." 

Then  at  the  door 

She  kissed  him.     And  she  saw  his  face   no 
more. 


NINTH   STAVE 

THE    GODS    FORSAKE    TROY 

Now  Dawn  came  weeping  forth,  and  on 

the  crest 

Of  Ida  faced  a  chill  wind  from  the  West. 
Forth  from  the  gray  sea  wrack-laden  it  blew 
And  howled  among  the  towers,  and  stronger 

grew 

As  crept  unseen  the  sun  his  path  of  light. 
Then  she  who  in  the  temple  all  that  night 
Had  kept  her  rueful  watch,  the  prophetess 
Kassandra,  peering  sharply,  heard  the  press 
And  rush  of  flight  above  her,  and  with  sick 
Foreboding  waited  ;  and  the  air  grew  thick 
With  flying  shapes  immortal  overhead. 

As  in  late  Autumn,  when  the  leaves  are 

shed 

And  dismal  flit  about  the  empty  ways, 
And  country  folk  provide  against  dark  days, 
And    heap  the  woodstack,  and  their  stores 

repair, 
Attent  you  know  the  quickening  of  the  air, 

88 


HELEN  REDEEMED  89 

And    closer    yet   the  swish    and    sweep    and 

swing 

Of  wings  innumerable,  emulous  to  bring 
The  birds  to  broader  skies  and  kindlier  sun, 
And  know  indeed  that  winter  is  begun — 
So  seeing  first,  then   hearing,  she  knew  the 

hour 
Was  come  when  Troy  must  fall,  and  not  a 

tower 
Be   left    to   front   the    morrow.       And    she 

covered 
Her  head  and  mourned,  while  one  by  one 

they  hovered 
Above  their  shrines,  then   flockt   and  faced 

the  dawn. 

First,    in    her    car    of    shell    and    amber, 

drawn 
By  clustering  doves  with  burnisht  wings,  a- 

throng, 

Passes  Queen  Aphrodite,  and  her  song 
Is    sweet    and    sharp  :    "  I    gave    my    sacred 

zone 

To  warm  thy  bosom,  Helen  which  by  none 
That  live  by  labour  and  in  tears  are  born 
And   sighing   go    their   ways,   has   e'er   been 

worn. 

It  kindled  in  thine  eyes  the  lovelight,  showed 
Thy  burning  self  in  his.     Thy  body  glowed 
With  beauty  like  to  mine  :   mine  thy  love- 
laughter 


90  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Thy   cooing    in    the    night,    thy   deep    sleep 

after, 

Thy  rapture  of  the  morning,  love  renewed  ; 
And  all  the  shadowed  day  to  sit  and  brood 
On  what  has  been  and  what  should  be  again  : 
Thou  wilt  not  ?     Nay,  I  proffer  not  in  vain 
My  gifts,  for  I  am  all  or  will  be  nought. 
Lo,  where  I  am  can  be  no  other  thought." 

Thus  to  the  wooded  heights  of  Ida  she 
Was  drawn,  hid  in  that  pearly  galaxy 
Of  snow-white  pigeons. 

Next  upon  the  height 
Of  Pergamos  uplift  a  beam  of  light 
That  for  its  core  enshrined  a  naked  youth. 
Golden  and  fierce.     She  knew  the  God  sans 

ruth, 
Him  who   had   given   woeful    prescience    to 

her, 

Apollo,  once  her  lover  and  her  wooer  ; 
Who    stood   as    one    stands  glorying   in    his 

grace 
And  strength,  full  in  the  sun,  though  on  her 

place 

Within  the  temple  court  no  sun  at  all 
Shone,  nor  as  yet  upon  the  topmost  wall 
Was  any  tinge  of  him,  but  all  showed  gray 
And    sodden   in    the  wind    and   blown  sea- 
spray. 
Not    to    him    dared    she    lift    her    voice    in 

prayer, 
Nor  scarce  her  eyes  to  see  him. 


HELEN  REDEEMED  91 

To  him  there 

Came  swift  a  spirit  in  shape  of  virgin  slim, 
With  snooded  hair  and  kirtle  belted  trim, 
Short  to  the  knee  ;  and  in  her  face  the  gale 
Had    blown    bright  sanguine   colour.     Free 

and  hale 

She  was  ;  and  in  her  hand  she  held  a  bow 
Unstrung,  and  o'er  her  shoulders  there  did 

go 

A  baldrick  that  made  sharp  the  cleft  betwixt 
Her  sudden  breasts — to  that  a  quiver  fixt, 
Showing     gold     arrow  -  points.       No     God 

there  is 

In  Heaven  more  swift  than  Delian  Artemis, 
The   young,   the  pure   health -giver  of  the 

Earth, 
Who  loveth  all  things  born,  and  brings  to 

birth, 

And  after  slays  with  merciful  sudden  death — 
In    whom    is    gladness    all    and    wholesome 

breath, 
And   to   whom   all   the   praise    of  him   who 

writes, 
Ever. 

These  two  she  saw  like  meteorites 
Flare  down   the   wind  and   burn   afar,   then 

fade. 

And  Leto  next,  a  mother  grave  and  staid, 
Drave    out  her    chariot,   which   two   winged 

stags  drew, 
Swift  following,  robed  in  gown  of  inky  blue, 


92  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  hooded  ;  and  her  hand  which  held  the 

hood 

Gleamed  like  a  patch  of  snow  left  in  a  wood 
Where  hyacinths  bring    down   to  earth  the 

sky. 

And  in  her  wake  a  winging  company, 
Dense  as  the  cloud  of  gulls  which  from   a 

rock 

At  sea  lifts  up  in  myriads,  if  the  knock 
Of    oars   assail    their    peace,    she    saw,    and 

mourned 
The    household   gods.      For    outward    they 

too  turned, 

The  spirits  of  the  streams  and  water-brooks, 
And  nymphs  who  haunt  the  pastures,  or  in 

nooks 
Of  woodlands  dwell.      There  like  a  lag  of 

geese 

Flew  in  long  straying  lines  the  Oreades 
That  in  wild  dunes  and  commons  have  their 

haunt ; 

There  sped  the  Hamadryads  ;  there  aslant, 
As  from  the  sea,  but  wheeling  ere  they  crost 
Their  sisters,  thronged  the  river-nymphs,  a 

host ; 
And  now  the  Gods  of  homestead  and  the 

hearth, 
Like   sad-faced    mourning   women,   left    the 

garth 
Where    each    had    dwelt    since    Troy    was 

stablished, 


HELEN  REDEEMED  93 

And  been  the  holy  influence  over  bed 
And  board  and  daily  work  under  the  sun 
And  nightlong  slumber  when  day's  work  was 

done  : 

They  rose,  and  like  a  driven  mist  of  rain 
Forsook  the  doomed  high  city  and  the  plain, 
And  drifted  castaway  ;  and  as  they  went 
Heaviness  spread  o'er  Ilios  like  a  tent, 
And  past  not  off,  but  brooded  all  day  long. 

But  ever  coursed  new  spirits  to  the  throng 
That  packt  the  ways  of  Heaven.     From  the 

plain, 

From  mere  and  holt  and  hollow  rose  amain 
The    haunters    of    the    silence ;     from    the 

streams 

And  wells  of  water,  from  the  country  demes, 
From    plough    and    pasture,    bottom,    ridge 

and  crest 

The  rustic  Gods  rose  up  and  joined  the  rest. 
Like  a  long  wisp  of  cloud  from  out  his  banks 
Streamed  Xanthos,   that  swift  river,   to  the 

ranks 
Of  flying  shapes  ;  and  driven  by  that  same 

mind 

That  urged  him  to  it  came  Simoeis  behind, 
And  other  Gods  and  other,  of  stream   and 

tree 

And  hill  and  vale — for  nothing  there  can  be 
On  earth  or  under  Heaven,  but  hath  in  it 
Essence  whereby  alone  its  form  may  hit 


94  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Our  apprehension,  channelled  in  the  sense 
Which  feedeth   us,   that  we   through   vision 

dense 

See  Gods  as  trees  walking,  or  in  the  wind 
That    singeth    in    the    bents    guess    what's 

behind 
Its  wailing  music. 

And  now  the  unearthly  flock, 
Emptying  every  water,  wood,  bare  rock 
And  pasture,  beset  Ida,  and  their  wings 
Beat  o'er  the  forest  which  about  her  springs 
And  makes  a  sea  of  verdure,  whence  she  lifts 
Her   soaring    peaks   to   bathe    them    in    the 

drifts 

Of  cloud,  and  rare  reveal  them  unto  men — 
For  Zeus  there  hath  his  dwelling,  out  of  ken 
Of  men  alike  and  gods.     But  now  the  brows, 
The  breasting  summits,  still  eternal  snows, 
And  all  the  faces  of  the  mountain  held 
A  concourse  like  in  number  to  the  field 
Of   Heaven  upon    some  breathless    summer 

night 
Printed    with    myriad    stars,    some    burning 

bright, 

Some  massed  in  galaxy,  a  cloudy  scar, 
And  others  faint,  as  infinitely  far. 
There  rankt  the  Gods  of  Heaven,  Earth,  and 

Sea, 

Brethren  of  them  now  hastening  from  the  fee 
Of  stricken  Priam.     Out  of  his  deep  cloud 
Zeus  flamed  his  levin,  and  his  thunder  loud 


HELEN  REDEEMED  95 

Volleyed  his  welcome.     With  uplifted  hands 
Acclaiming,  God's  oncoming  each  God  stands 
To  greet.     And  thus  the  Hierarchy  at  one 
Sits  to  behold  the  bitter  business  done 
Which  Paris  by  his  luxury  bestirred. 

But  in  the  city,  like  a  stricken  bird 
Grieving  her  desolation  and  despair, 
As  voiceless  and  as  lustreless,  astare 
For    imminent    Death,     Kassandra    croucht 

beneath 

Her  very  doom,  herself  the  bride  of  Death  ; 
For  in  the  temple's  forecourt  reared  the  mass 
Of  that  which  was  to  bring  the  woe  to  pass, 
And  hidden  in  him  both  her  murderers 
Wrung  at  their  nails. 

And  slow  the  long  day  wears 
While  all  the  city  broods.     The  chiefs  keep 

house, 

Or  gather  on  the  wall,  or  make  carouse 
To  simulate  a  freedom  they  feel  not ; 
And  at  street  corners  men  in  shift  or  plot 
Whisper  together,  or  in  the  market-place 
Gather,  and  peer  each  other  in  the  face 
Furtively,  seeking  comfort  against  care  ; 
Whose  eyes,  meeting  by  chance,  shift  other- 
where 

In  haste.     But  in  the  houses,  behind  doors 
Shuttered  and  barred,  the  women  scrub  their 

floors, 
Or  ply  their  looms  as  busily  :   for  they 


96  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Ever  cure  care  with  care,  and  if  a  day 
Be  heavy  lighten  it  with  heavier  task  ; 
And  for  their  griefs  wear  beauty  like  a  mask, 
And  answer  heart's  presaging  with  a  song 
On    their  brave    lips,   and    render    right  for 

wrong. 

Little,  by  outward  seeming,  do  they  know 
Of  doom  at  hand,  of  fate  or  blood  or  woe, 
Nor  how  their  children,  playing  by  their 

knees, 

Must  end  this  day  of  busyness-at-ease 
In   shrieking   night,  with  clamour  for    their 

bread, 

And  a  red  bath,  and  a  cold  stone  for  a  bed 
Under  the  staring  moon. 

Now  sinks  the  sun 

Blood-red  into  the  heavy  sea  and  dun, 
And  forth  from  him,  as  he  were  stuck  with 

swords, 
Great   streams  of  light  go    upward.     Then 

the  lords 

Of  havoc  and  unrest  prepare  their  storms, 
And  o'er  the  silent  city,  vulture  forms — 
Eris  and  Enyo,  Alke,  loke, 
The    biter,    the    sharp-bitten,    the   mad,  the 

fey- 
Hover  and  light  on  pinnacle  and  tower  : 
The  gray  Erinnyes,  watchful  for  the  hour 
When  Haro  be  the  wail.     And  down  the  sky 
Like  a  white  squall  flung  Ate  with  a  cry 


HELEN  REDEEMED  97 

That    sounded    like   the   wind    in    a   ship's 

shrouds, 
As   shrill  and  wild  at  once.      The  driving 

clouds 

Surging  together,  blotted  out  the  sea, 
The  beached  ships,  the  plain  with  mound  and 

tree, 
And  slantwise  came  the  sheeted   rain,    and 

fast 

The  darkness  settled  in.     Kassandra  cast 
Her  mantle  o'er  her  head,  and  with  slow  feet 
Entered  her  shrine  deserted,  there  to  greet 
Her  fate  when  it  should  come  ;  and  merciful 

Sleep 
Befriended  her. 

Now  from  his  lair  did  creep 
Odysseus  forth  unarmed,  his  sword  and  spear 
There  in  the  Horse,  and  warily  to  peer 
And  spy  his  whereabouts  the  Ithacan 
Went  doubtful.      Then    his   dreadful  work 

began, 

As  down  the  bare  way  of  steep  Pergamos 
Under  the  dark  he  sought  for  Paris'  house. 


H 


TENTH  STAVE 

ODYSSEUS    COMES    AGAIN    TO    PARIS*    HOUSE 

THERE  in  her  cage  roamed  Helen  light  and 

fierce, 

Unresting,  with  bright  eyes  and  straining  ears, 
Nor  ever  stayed  her  steps  ;  but  first  the  hall 
She  ranged,   touching  the  pillars  ;    next    to 

the  wall 

Went  out  and  shot  her  gaze  into  the  murk 
Whereas  the  ships  should  lie  ;   then  to  her 

work 
Upon  the   great    loom    turned  and  wove  a 

shift, 

But  idly,  waiting  always  for  some  lift 
In  the  close-wrapping  fog  that  might  discover 
The    moving    hosts,    the    spearmen    of    her 

lover — 

Lover  and  husband,  master  and  lord  of  life, 
Coming  at  last  to  take  a  slave  to  wife. 
And  as  wide-eyed  she  stared  to  feel  her  heart 
Leap  to   her  side,  she   felt   the  warm   tears 

start, 

98 


HELEN  REDEEMED  99 

And  thankt  the  Goddess  for  the  balm  they 

brought. 

Yet  to  her  women,  withal  so  highly  wrought 
By  hope  and  care  and  waiting,  she  was  mild 
And  gentle-voiced,  and  playful  as  a  child 
That  sups  the  moment's  joy,   and    nothing 

heeds 

Time  past  or  time  to  come,  but  fills  all  needs 
With  present    kindness.       She   would  laugh 

and  talk, 

Take  arms,  suffer  embraces,  even  walk 
The  terrace  'neath  the  eyes  of  all  her  fate, 
And  seem  to  heed  what  they  might  show  or 

prate, 
As  if  her  whole  heart's  heart  were  in  this 

house 

And  not  at  fearful  odds  and  perilous. 
And  should  one  speak  of  Paris,  as  to  say, 
"  Would  that  our  lord  might  see  thee  go  so 


About  his  house  !  "     Gently  she'd  bend  her 

head 
Down  to    her  breast  and    pluck  a   vagrant 

thread 
Forth  from    her   tunic's    hem,  and    looking 

wise, 

Gaze  at  her  hand  which  on  her  bosom's  rise 
Lit  like  a  butterfly  and  quivered  there. 

Now  in  the  dusk,  with  Paris  otherwhere 
At  council  with  the  chieftains,  into  the  hall 
To  Helen  there,  was  come,  adventuring  all, 


ioo          HELEN  REDEEMED 

Odysseus  in  the  garb  of  countryman, 
A  herdsman  from  the  hills,  with  stain  of  tan 
Upon  his  neck  and  arms,  with  staff  and  scrip, 
And  round  each  leg  bound  crosswise  went  a 

strip 

Of  good  oxhide.     Within  the  porch  he  came 
And  louted  low,  and  hailed  her  by  her  name, 
Among  her  maidens  easy  to  be  known, 
Though  not   so  tall  as  most,  and  not  full 

blown 

To  shape  and  flush  like  a  full-hearted  rose  ; 
But  like  a  summer  wave  her  bosom  flows 
Lax  and  most  gentle,  and  her  tired  sweet  face 
Seems  pious  as  the  moon  in  a  blue  space 
Of  starless  heaven,  and  in  her  eyes  the  hue 
Of  early  morning,  gray  through  mist  of  blue. 
Not  by  a  flaunted  beauty  is  she  guessed 
Queen  of  them  all,  but  by  the  right  expressed 
In  her  calm  gaze  and  fearless,  and  that  hold 
Upon  her  lips  which  Gods  have.     Nay,  not 

cold, 

Thou  holy  one,  not  cold  thy  lips,  which  say 
All  in  a  sigh,  and  with  one  word  betray 
The  passion  of  thy  heart !     But  who  can  wis 
The  fainting  piercing  message  of  thy  kiss  ? 
O  blest  initiate — let  him  live  to  tell 
Thy  godhead,  show  himself  thy  miracle  ! 
But  when  she  saw  him  there  with  his  head 

bowed 
And    humble    hands,    deeply   her    fair    face 

glowed, 


HELEN  REDEEMED 


101 


And  broad  across  the  iris  swam  the  black 
Until  her  eyes  showed  darkling.     "  Friend, 

your  lack 
Tell   me,"  she  said,  "  and  what  is  mine   to 

give 

Is  yours  ;  but  little  my  prerogative 
Here  in    this    house,   where   I    am    not   the 

queen 

You  call  me,  but  another  name,  I  ween, 
Serves  me  about  the  country  you  are  of, 
Which  Ilios  gives  me  too,  but  not  in  love. 
Yet  are  we  all  alike  in  evil  plight, 
And  should  be  tender  of  each  other's  right, 
And  of  each  other's  wrongdoing,  and  wrongs 

done 

Upon  us.     Have  you  wife  and  little  one 
Hungry  at  home  ?     Have  you  a  son  afield  ? 
Or  do  you  mourn  ?     Alas,  I  cannot  wield 
The   sword   you   lack,    nor   bow   nor   spear 

afford 
To  serve  ..." 

He  said,  "  Nay,  you  can  sheathe  the  sword, 
Slack  bowstring,  and  make  spear  a  hunter's 

toy. 

Lady,  I  come  to  end  this  war  of  Troy 
In  your  good  pleasure." 

With  her  steady  eyes 

Unwinking  fixt,  "  Let  you  and  me  devise," 
Said  she,  "  this  happy  end  of  bow  and  spear, 
So  shall  we  serve  the  land.     You  have  my 

ear  : 


102  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Speak  then." 

"But  so,"  he  said,  "these  maidens  have  it. 
But  we  save  Troy  alone,  or  never  save  it." 
Turning  she  bid   them  leave  her  with  a 

nod, 
And    they  obeyed.     Swift   then    and  like   a 

God 
She  seemed,  with  bright  all-knowing  eyes  and 

calm 

Gesture  of  high-held  head,  and  open  palm 
To  greet.     "  Laertes'  son,  what  news  bringst 

thou?" 
"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  the  best.     The  hour  is 

now. 

We  stand  within  the  heaven-establisht  walls, 
We  gird  the  seat.     Within  an  hour  it  falls, 
The  seat  divine  of  Dardanos  and  Tros, 
After  our  ten  years'  travail  and  great  loss 
Of  heroes  not  yet  rested,  but  to  rest 
Soon." 

Then  she  laid  her  hand  upon  her  breast 
To  stay  it.     "  Who  are  ye  that  stand  here- 
by?" 
u  Desperate  men,"  he  said,  "  prepared  to 

die 
If    thou   wilt    have    it   so.     Chief  is   there 

none 

Beside  the  ships  but -Nestor.     All  are  gone 
Forth  in   the   Horse.     Under   thy   covering 

hand 
Thou  holdest  all  Achaia.     Here  we  stand, 


HELEN  REDEEMED  103 

Epeios,  Pyrrhos,  Antiklos,  with  these 

Cretan  Idomeneus,  Meriones, 

Aias  the  Lokrian,  Teukros,  Diomede 

Of  the  loud  war-cry,  next  thy  man  indeed. 

Golden-haired  Menelaus  the  robbed  King, 

And  Agamemnon  by  him,  and  I  who  bring 

This  news  and  must  return  to  take  what  lot 

Thou    choosest   us;    for    all    is    thine,    God 

wot, 

To  end  or  mend,  to  make  or  mar  at  will." 
A   weighty   utterance,  but  she  heard   the 

thrill 

Within  her  heart,  and  listened  only  that — 
To  know  her  love  so  near.  So  near  he  sat 
Hidden  when  she  that  toucht  the  Horse's 

flank 
Could  have  toucht  him  !     "  Odysseus  !  "  her 

voice  sank 

To  the  low  tone  of  the  soft  murmuring  dove 
That    nests   and    broods,   "  Odysseus,   heard 

my  love 

My  whisper  of  his  name  when  close  I  stood 
And  stroked  the  Horse  ? " 

"I  heard  and  understood," 
He   said,    "and   Lokrian  Aias   would   have 

spoken 
Had  I  not  clapt  a  hand  to  his  mouth — else 

broken 

By  garish  day  had  been  our  house  of  dream, 
And  our  necks  too.     I  heard  a  woman  scream 
Near  by  and  cry  upon  the  Ruinous  Face, 


io4  HELEN  REDEEMED 

But  none  made  answer  to  her." 

Nought  she  says 

To  that  but  "  I  am  ready  ;  let  my  lord 
Come  when    he  will.     Humbly    I   wait    his 

word." 
"  That  word  I  bring,"  Odysseus  said,  "  he 

comes. 
Await  him  here." 

Her  wide  eyes  were  the  homes 
Of  long  desire.     "  Ah,  let  me  go  with  thee 
Even  as  I  am  ;  from  this  dark  house  take 

me 
While  Paris  is  abroad  !  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  so,  but  he  must  find  thee  here  abed  — 
And  Paris  here." 

The  light  died  out  ;  a  mask 
Of  panic  was  her  face,  what  time  her  task 
Stared  on  a  field  of  white  horror  like  blood  : 
"  Here  !     But  there  must  be  strife  then  !  " 

"  Well  and  good," 
Said  he. 

Then  she,  shivering  and  looking  small, 
"And  one  must  fall?"  she  said;  he,  "One 

must  fall." 
Reeling  she  turned  her  pincht  face  other 

way 
And  muttered  with  her  lips,  grown  cold  and 


. 

Then   fawning   came   at  him,  and   with  her 
hands 


HELEN  REDEEMED  105 

Besought    him,    but    her    voice    made     no 

demands, 

Only  her  haunted  eyes  were  quick,  and  prayed, 
"  Ah,  not  to  fall  through  me  !  " 

"  By  thee,"  he  said, 
"  The  deed  is  to  be  done." 

She  droopt  adown 

Her  lovely  head  ;  he  heard  her  broken  moan, 
"  Have    I    not    caused    enough    of    blood- 
shedding, 
And    enough    women's    tears  ?      Is  not    the 

sting 

Sharp  enough  of  the  knife  within  my  side  ? " 
No  more  she  could. 

Then  he,  "  Think  not  to  avoid 
The  lot  of  man,  who  payeth  the  full  price 
For    each    deed   done,   and   riddeth   vice   by 

vice  : 

Such  is  the  curse  upon  him.     The  doom  is 
By  God  decreed,  that  for  thy  forfeit  bliss 
In  Sparta  thou  shalt  pay  the  price  in  Troy, 
Dishonour  for  lost  honour,  pain  for  joy  ; 
By  what  hot  thought  impelled,  by  that  alone 
Win  back  ;  by  violence  violence  atone. 
If  by  chicane  thou  fleddest,  by  chicane 
Win  back  thy  blotted  footprints.     Out  again 
With  all  thine  arts  of  kisses  slow  and  long, 
Of  smiles  and  stroking  hands,  and  crooning 

song 

Whenas   full-fed    with    love    thou    lulledst 
asleep  ; 


106  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Renew  thine  eyebright  glances,  whisper  and 

creep 
And   twine    about   his   neck   thy    wreathing 

arms  : 
As    we   with   spears    so    do    thou    with    thy 

charms, 

Arm  thee  and  wait  the  hour  of  fire  and  smoke 
To  purge  this  robbery.     Paris  by  the  stroke 
Of  him   he  robbed   shall  wash   out  his  old 

cheat 

In  blood,  and  thou,  woman,  by  new  deceit 
Of  him  redeem   thy   first.     For   thus   God 

saith, 
Traitress,    thou    shalt    betray    thy    thief    to 

death." 

He  ceased,  and  she  by  misery  made  wild 
And  witless,  shook,  and  like  a  little  child 
Gazed   piteous,   and   asked,   "  What   must  I 

do?" 
He  answered,  "  Hold  him  by  thee,  falsely 

true, 

Until  the  King  stand  armed  within  the  house 
Ready  to  take  his  blood-price.     Even  thus, 
By   shame    alone    shalt    thou    redeem    thy 

shame." 
And  now  she  claspt  his  knee  and  cried  his 

name  : 

"  Mercy  !     I  cannot  do  it.     Let  me  die 
Sooner  than  go  to  him  so.     What,  must  I  lie 
With  one  and  other,  make  myself  a  whore, 
And  so  go  back  to  Sparta,  nevermore 


HELEN  REDEEMED  107 

To  hold  my  head  up  level  with  my  slaves, 
Nor  dare  to  touch  my  child  ?  " 

Said  he,  "  Let  knaves 
Deal  knavishly  till  freedom  they  can  win  ; 
And  so  let  sinners  purge  themselves  of  sin." 
Then    fiercely    looking    on    her    where    she 

croucht 

Fast  by  his  knees,  his  whole  mind  he  avoucht : 
"  How  many  hast  thou  sent  the  way  of  death 
By  thy  hot  fault  ?     What  ghosts  like  wander- 
ing breath 

Shudder  and  wail  unhouseled  on  the  plain, 
Shreds  of  Achaian  honour  ?     What  hearts  in 

pain 
Cry   the  night   through  ?     What   souls  this 

very  night 

Fare  forth  ?     Art  thou  alone  to  sup  delight, 
Alone  to  lap  in  pleasantness,  who  first 
And  only,  with  thy  lecher  and  his  thirst, 
Wrought    all    the    harm  ?      Only    for    thy 

smooth  sake 

Did  Paris  reive,  and  Menelaus  ache, 
And  Hector  die  ashamed,  and  Peleus'  son 
Stand  to  the  arrow,  and  Aias  Telamon 
Find  madness  and  self-murder  for  the  crown 
Of  all  his  travail  ? "     He  eyed  her  up  and 

down 

Sternly,  as  measuring  her  worth  in  scorn. 
"  Not  thus  may  traffic  any  woman  born 
While  men  endure  cold  nights  and  burning 

days, 


io8  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Hunger  and  wretchedness.7' 

She  stands,  she  says, 

"  Enough — I  cannot  answer.     Tell  me  plain 
What  I  must  do." 

"  At  dark,"  he  said,  "  we  gain 
The   Gates   and    open   them.     A   trumpet's 

blast 

Will  sound  the  entry  of  the  host.     Hold  fast 
Thy  Paris  then.     We  storm  the  citadel, 
High  Pergamos  ;  that  won,  the  horn  will  tell 
The  sack  begun.     But  hold  thou  Paris  bound 
Fast  in  thine   arms.      Once  more  the  horn 

shall  sound. 
That  third  is  doom  for  him.     Release  him 

then." 
All  blank  she  gazed.     "  Unarmed  to  face 

armed  men  ? " 
"  Unarmed,"  he  said,  "  to  meet  his  judgment 

day." 

Now  was  thick  silence  broken  ;    now  no 

way 

For  her  to  shift  her  task  nor  he  his  fate. 
Keenly  she  heeds.     "  'Tis  Paris  at  the  gate  ! 
What  now  ?     Whither  away  ?     Where  wilt 

thou  hide  ? " 

He  lookt  her  in  the  face.     "  Here  I  abide 
What    he    may    do.       Was    it    not    truth    I 

spake 

That  all  Hellas  lay  in  thy  hand  ?     Now  take 
What  counsel  or  what  comfort  may  avail." 


HELEN  REDEEMED  109 

Paris   stood   in    the   door    and   cried  her 

Hail. 
"  Hail  to  thee,  Rose  of  the  World  ! "  then 

saw  the  man, 

And  knit  his  brows  upon  him,  close  to  scan 
His  features  ;  but  Odysseus  had  his  hood 
Shadowing  his  face.     Some  time  the  Trojan 

stood 
Judging,  then  said,  "Thou  seek'st  ?     What 

seekest  thou  ? " 
"  A  debt  is  owed  me.     I    seek  payment 

now." 

So  he  was  told  ;  but  he  drew  nearer  yet. 
"  I  would   know   more  of  thee  and   of  thy 

debt," 
He  said. 

And  then  Odysseus,  "  This  thy  strife 
Hath  ruined  all  my  fields  which  are  my  life, 
Brought  murrain  on  my  beasts,  cold  ash  to 

my  hearth, 

Emptiness  to  my  croft.     Hunger  and  dearth, 
Are  these  enough  ?     Who  pays  me  ?  " 

Then  Paris, 

"  I  pay,  but  first  will  know  what  man  it  is 
I  am  to  pay,  and  in  what  kind."     So  said, 
Snatching  the  hood,  he  whipt  it  from  his  head 
And  lookt  and  knew  the  Ithacan.     "  Now 

by  Zeus, 

Treachery  here !  "     He    swung    his    sword- 
arm  loose 
Forth  of  his  cloak  and  set  hand  to  his  sword  ; 


no  HELEN  REDEEMED 

But  Helen  softly  called  him  :  "  Hath  my 

lord 

No  word  of  greeting  for  his  bondwoman  ? " 
Straightway  he  went  to  her,  and  left  the  man, 
And  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  held  her  close. 
And  light  of  foot,  Odysseus  quit  the  house. 


ELEVENTH   STAVE 

THE    BEGUILING    OF    PARIS 

Now  Paris  tipt  her  chin  and  turned  her 

face 

Upwards  to  his  that  fondly  he  might  trace 
The  beauty  of  her  budded  lips,  and  stoop 
And   kiss  them   softly  ;  and  fingered  in  the 

loop 
That  held  her  girdle,  and  closer  pressed,  on 

fire, 

Towards  her  ;  for  her  words  had  stung  desire 
Anew  ;  and  wooing  in  his  fond  boy's  way, 
Whispered  and   lookt  his   passion  ;   then   to 

pray 
Began  :     "  Ah,    love,    long    strange    to    me, 

behold 

Thy  winter  past,  and  come  the  days  of  gold 
And  pleasance  of  the  spring  !     For  in  thine 

eyes 

I  see  his  light  and  hail  him  as  he  flies ! 
Nay,  cloud  him  not,  nor  veil  him  " — for  she 

made 


in 


ii2  HELEN  REDEEMED 

To  turn    her    face,   saying,   "  Ah,   let    them 

fade: 

The  soul  thou  prisonest  here  is  grayer  far." 
But  he  would  give  no  quarter  now.     "  O 

star, 

O  beacon-star,  shine  on  me  in  the  night 
That  I  may  wash  me  in  thy  bath  of  light, 
Taking  my  fill  of  thee  ;  so  cleansed  all 
And  healed,  I  rise  renewed  to  front  what  call 
May  be  !  "  which  said,  with  conquest  in  his 

bones 

And  in  his  eyes  assurance,  in  high  tones 
He   called    her    maids,   bade  take    her    and 

prepare 

The  couch,  and  her  to  be  new-wedded  there  ; 
For  long  had  they  been  strangers    to  their 

bliss. 

So  by  the  altar  standeth  she  submiss 
And  watchful,  praying  silent  and  intense 
To  a  strange-figured  Goddess,  to  his  sense 
Who   knew  but  Aphrodite.      "  Love,   what 

now  ? 
Who  is  thy   God?     What    secret    rite   hast 

thou?" 

For  grave  and  stern  above  that  altar  stood 
Here  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 

In  dry  mood 
She  answered  him,  "  Chaste  wives  to  her  do 

pray 
Before  they  couch,  Blest  be  the  strife  !     You 

say 


HELEN  REDEEMED  113 

We  are  to  be  new-wedded.     Pour  with  me 
Libation  that  we  love  not  fruitlessly." 

So  said,  she  took  the  well-filled  cup  and 

poured, 
And     prayed,     saying,    "  O     Mother,    not 

abhorred 

Be  this  my  service  of  thee.     Count  it  not 
Offence,  nor  let  my  prayers  be  forgot 
When  reckoning  comes  of  things  done  and 

not  done 

By  me  thy  child,  or  to  me,  hapless  one, 
Unloving  paramour  and  unloved  wife  !  " 

"  Her6,  to  thee  for  issue  of  the  strife  !  " 
Cried   Paris   then,   and    poured.     So    Helen 

went 
And  let  her  maids  adorn  her  to  his  bent. 

Then  took  he  joy  of  her,  and  little  guessed 
Or  cared  what  she  might  give  or  get.     Possest 
Her  body  by  his  body,  but  her  mind 
Searcht  terribly  the  issue.     As  one  blind 
Explores  the  dark  about  him  in  broad  day 
And  fingers  in  the  air,  so  as  she  lay 
Lax  in  his  arms,  her  fainting  eyes,  aglaze 
For  terror  coming,  sought  escape  all  ways. 
Alas  for  her  !     What  way  for  woman  fair, 
Whose  joy  no  fairer  makes  her  than  despair  ? 
Her  burning  lips  that  kisses  could  not  cool, 
Her  beating  heart  that  not  love  made  so  full, 
The  surging  of  her  breast,  her  clinging  hands  : 
Here  are  such  signs  as  lover  understands, 

i 


1 14  HELEN  REDEEMED 

But  fated  Paris  nowise.     Her  soul,  distraught 
To  save  him,  proved  the  net  where  he  was 

caught. 

For  more  she  anguisht  lest  love  be  his  bane 
The  fiercelier  spurred  she  him,  to  make  him 

fain 
Of  that  which  had  been  ruinous  to  all. 

But  all  the  household  gathered  on  the  wall 
While    these    two    in    discordant    bed   were 

plight, 

And  watcht  the  Achaian  fires.     No  beacon- 
light 
Showed  by  the  shore,  but  countless,  flickering, 

streamed 

Innumerable  lights,  wove,  dipt  and  gleamed 
Like  fireflies  on  a  night  of  summer  heat, 
Withal  one  way  they  moved,  though   many 

beat 

Across  and  back,  and  mingled  with  the  rest. 
Anon  a  great  glare  kindled  from  the  crest 
Of  Ida,  and  was  answered  by  a  blaze 
Behind  the  ships,  which  threw  up  in  red  haze 
Huge  forms  of  prow  and  beak.     Then  from 

the  Mound 

Of  Ilos  fire  shot  up,  from  sacred  ground, 
And  out  the  mazy  glory  of  moving  lights 
One  sped  and  flared,  as  of  the  meteorites 
In  autumn  some  fly  further,  brighter  courses. 
A  chariot !     They  heard  the  thunder  of  the 

horses  ; 
And  as  they  flew  the  torch  left  a  bright  wake. 


HELEN  REDEEMED  115 

And  thus  to  one  another  woman  spake, 

"  Lo,  more  lights   race  !     They  follow  him, 

they  near, 
Catch  and   draw  level.     Hark !     Now    you 

can  hear 
The  tramp  of  men  !  " 

Says  one,  "  That  baleful  sheen 
Is  light  upon    their  spears.     The  Greeks,  I 

ween, 
Are  coming  up  to  rescue  or  requite." 

But  then  her  mate  :    "  They  mass,  they  fill 

the  night 
With  panic  terror." 

True,  that  all  night  things 
Fled  as  they  came.     They  heard  the  flickering 

wings 

Of  countless  birds  in  haste,  and  as  they  flew 
So  fled  the  dark  away.      Light  waxed  and 

^grew 

Until  the  dead  of  night  was  vivified 
And  radiant  opened  out  the  countryside 
With  pulsing  flames  of  fire,  which  gleamed 

and  glanced, 

Flickered,  wavered,  yet  never  stayed  advance. 
As  the  sun  rising  high  o'er  Ida  cold 
Beats  a  sea-path  in  flakes  of  molten  gold, 
So  stretcht  from  shore  to  Troy  that  litten 

stream 
That    moved    and    shuddered,    restless    as    a 

dream, 
Yet  ever  nearing,  till  on  spear  and  shield 


n6          HELEN  REDEEMED 

They  saw  light  like  the  moon  on  a  drowned 

field, 

And  in  the  glare  of  torches  saw  and  read 
Gray  faces,  like  the  legions  of  the  dead, 
Silent  about  the  walls,  and  waiting  there. 

But  in  the  fragrant  chamber  Helen  the  fair 
Lay  close  in  arms,  and  Paris  slept,  his  head 
Upon  her  bosom,  deep  as  any  dead. 

Sudden  there  smote  the  blast  of  a  great 

horn, 

Single,   long-held   and   shuddering,  and   far- 
borne  ; 

And  then  a  deathless  silence.     Paris  stirred 
On  that  soft  pillow,  and  listened  while  they 

heard 

Many  men  running  frantically,  with  feet 
That    slapt   the    stones,    and    voices    in    the 

street 
Of  question  and  call — "  Oh,  who  are  ye  that 

run  ? 
What  of  the  night  ?  "     «  O  peace  !  "     And 

some  lost  one 
Wailed  like  a  woman,   and   her  a  man  did 

curse, 
And  there  were  scuffling,  prayers,  and  then 

worse — 

A  silence.     But  the  running  ended  not 
While  Paris  lay  alistening  with  a  knot 
Of   Helen's   loose    hair    twisting   round    his 
finger. 


HELEN  REDEEMED  117 

"O  love,"  he  murmured  low,  "  I   may  not 

linger. 

The  street's  awake.     Alas,  thou  art  too  kind 
To    be    a    warrior's    bride."      Sighing,    she 

twined 

Her  arm  about  his  neck  and  toucht  his  face, 
And  pressed  it  gently  back  to  its  warm  place 
Of  pillowing.     And  Paris  kissed  her  breast 
And  slept ;  but  her  heart's  riot  gave  no  rest 
As  quaking  there  she  lay,  awaiting  doom. 

Then  afar  off  rose  clamour,  and  the  room 
Was  fanned  with  sudden   light  and  sudden 

dark, 

As  on  a  summer  night  in  a  great  park 
Blazed  forth  you  see  each  tuft  of  grass  or 

mound. 

Anon  the  drowning  blackness,  while  the  sound 
Of  Zeus's  thunder  hardens  every  close  : 
So  here  the  chamber  glared,  then  dipt,  and 

rose 

That  far  confused  tumult,  and  now  and  then 
The  scurrying  feet  of  passion-driven  men. 
Thrilling  she  waited  with  sick  certainty 
Of  doom  inexorable,  while  the  struck  city 
Fought   its    death  -  grapple,   and   the    windy 

height 

Of  Pergamos  became  a  shambles.     White 
The  holy  shrines  stared  on  a  field  of  blood, 
And    with    blank  eyes  the  emptied    temples 

stood 
While  murder  raved  before  them,  and  below 


n8  HELEN  REDEEMED 

And  all  about  the  city  ran  the  woe 

Of  women    for    their    children.      Then    the 

flame 

Burst  in  the  citadel,  and  overcame 
The  darkness,  and  the  time  seemed  of  broad 

day. 

And  Helen  stared  unwinking  where  she  lay 
Pillowing  Paris. 

Now  glad  and  long  and  shrill 
The  second  trumpet  sounds.     They  have  the 

hill- 
High  Troy  is  down,  is  down !     Starting,  he 

wakes 
And  turns  him  in  her  arms.     His  face  she 

takes 

In  her  two  hands  and  turns  it  up  to  hers. 
Nothing  she  says,  nothing  she  does,  nor  stirs 
From  her  still  scrutiny,  nor  so  much  as  blinks 
Her  eyes,  deep-searching,  of  whose  blue  he 

drinks, 

And  fond  believes  her  all  his  own,  while  she 
Marvels  that  aught  of  his  she  e'er  could  be 
In  times  bygone.     But  now  he  is  on  fire 
Again,  and  urges  on  her  his  desire, 
And  loses  all  the  sense  of  present  needs 
For  him  in  burning  Troy,  where  Priam  bleeds 
Head-smitten,  trodden  on  his  palace-floor, 
And  white  Kassandra  yieldeth  up  her  flower 
To  Aias'  lust,  and  of  the  Dardan  race 
Survive  he  only,  renegade  disgrace, 
He  only  and  Aineias  the  wise  prince. 


HELEN  REDEEMED  119 

But  now  is  crying  fear  abroad  and  wins 
The  very  household  of  the  shameful  lover  ; 
Now  are  the  streets  alive,  for  worse  in  cover 
Like  a  trapt  rat  to  die  than  fight  the  odds 
Under  the  sky.     Now  women  shriek  to  the 

Gods, 

And  men  run  witlessly,  and  in  and  out 
The  Greeks  press,  burning,  slaying,  and  the 

rout 

Screameth  to  Heaven.     As  at  sea  the  mews 
Pack,  their  wings  battling,  when  some  fresh 

wrack  strews 

The  tideway,  and  in  greater  haste  to  stop 
Others  from  prey,  will  let  their  morsel  drop, 
And  all  the  while  make  harsh  lament — so  here 
The  avid  spoilers  bickered  in  their  fear 
To  be  manoeuvred  out  of  robbery, 
And  tore  the  spoil,  and  mangled  shamefully 
Bodies  of  men  to  strip  them,  and  in  haste 
To  forestall  ravishers  left  the  victims  chaste. 
Ares,  the  yelling  God,  and  Ate  white 
Swept  like  a  snow-storm  over  Troy  that  night ; 
And  towers  rockt,  and  in  the  naked  glare 
Of  fire  the  smoke  climbed  to  the  upper  air  ; 
And  clamour  was  as  of  the  dead  broke  loose. 

But  Menelaus  his  stern  way  pursues, 
And  to  the  wicked  house  with  chosen  band 
Cometh,  his  good  sword  naked  in  his  hand  ; 
And  now,  while  Paris  loves  and  holds  her  fast 
In  arms,  the  third  horn  sounds  a  shattering 

blast, 


120  HELEN  REDEEMED 

Long-held,  triumphant ;  and  about  the  door 
Gathers    the   household,  to  cry,  to  pray,  to 

implore, 
And    at    the  last    break   in  and   scream  the 

truth — 

"  The   Greeks  !     The  Greeks  !     Save    your- 
selves !  " 

Then  in  sooth 

Starts  Paris  out  of  bed,  and  as  he  goes 
Sees  in  the  eyes  of  Helen  all  she  knows 
And  all  believes  ;  and  with  his  utter  loss 
Of  her  rises  the  man  in  him  that  was 
Ere  luxury  had  entered  blood  and  bone 
Of  him.     No  word  he  said,  but  let  one  groan, 
And  turned  his  dying  eyes  to  hers,  and  read 
Therein  his  fate,  that  to  her  he  was  dead, 
Long  dead  and  cold  in  grave.     Whereat  he 

past 

Out  of  the  door,  and  met  his  end  at  last 
As  man,  not  minion. 

But  the  woman  fair 

Lay  on  her  face,  half  buried  in  her  hair, 
Naked  and  prone  beneath  her  saving  sin, 
Not  yet  enheartened  new  life  to  begin. 


ENVOY 

BUT  thou  didst   rise,  Maid    Helen,  as  from 

sleep, 

A  final  tryst  to  keep 

With  thy  true  lover,  in  whose  hands  thy  life 
Lay,  as  in  arms  ;  his  wife 
In  heart  as  well  as  deed  ;  his  wife,  his  friend, 
His  soul's  fount  and  its  end  ! 
For  such  it  is,  the  marriage  of  true  minds, 
Each  in  each  sanction  finds  ; 
So  if  her  beauty  lift  her  out  of  thought 
Whither  man's  to  be  brought 
To  worship  her  perfection  on  his  knees, 
So  in  his  strength  she  sees 
Self  glorified,  and  two  make  one  clear  orb 
Whereinto  all  rays  absorb 
Which   stream    from    God   and    unto    God 

return. — 

So,  as  he  fared,  I  yearn 
To  be,  and  serve  my  years  of  pain  and  loss 
'Neath  my  walled  Ilios, 
With  my  eyes  ever  fixt  to  where,  a  star, 
Thou  and  thy  sisters  are, 
Helen  and  Beatrice,  with  thee  embraced, 
Hands    in    thy  hands,   and   arms  about  thy 

waist. 

1911-12. 


HYPSIPYLE 

QUEEN  of  the  shadows,  Maid  and  Wife, 
Twifold  in  essence,  as  in  life, 
The  lamp  of  Death,  the  star  of  Birth, 
Half  cradled  and  half  mourned  by  Earth, 
By  Hell  half  won,  half  lost !  aid  me 
To  sing  thy  fond  Hypsipyle, 
Thy  bosom's  mate  who,  unafraid, 
Renounced  for  thee  what  part  she  had 
In  sun  and  wind  upon  the  hill, 
In  dawn  about  the  mere,  in  still 
Woodlands,  in  kiss  of  lapping  wave, 
In  laughter,  in  love — all  this  she  gave  ! — 
And  shared  thy  dream-life,  visited 
The  sunless  country  of  the  dead, 
There  to  abide  with  thee,  their  Queen, 
In  that  gray  region,  shadow-seen 
By  them  that  cast  no  shadows,  yet 
Themselves  are  shadows.     Nor  forget, 
Kore,  her  love  made  manifest 
To  thee,  familiar  of  her  breast 
And  partner  of  her  whispering  mouth. 
123 


i24  HYPSIPYLE 

Thee  too,  Our  Lady  of  the  South, 
Uranian  Kypris,  I  invoke, 
Regent  of  starry  space,  with  stroke 
Of  splendid  wing,  in  whose  white  wake 
Stream  those  who,  filled  with  thee,  forsake 
Their  clinging  shroudy  clots,  and  rise, 
Lover  and  loved,  to  thy  pure  skies, 
To  thy  blue  realm  !     O  lady,  touch 
My  lips  with  rue,  for  she  loved  much. 

What  poet  in  what  cloistered  nook, 
Indenting  in  what  roll  of  a  book 
His  rhymes,  can  voice  the  tides  of  love  ? 
Nay,  thrilling  lark,  nay,  moaning  dove, 
The  nightingale's  full-charged  throat 
That  cheereth  now,  and  now  doth  gloat, 
And  now  recordeth  bitter-sweet 
Longing,  too  wise  to  image  it  : 
These  be  your  minstrels,  lovers  !     Choose 
From  their  winged  choir  your  urgent  Muse  ; 
Let  her  your  speechless  joys  relate 
Which  men  with  words  sophisticate, 
Striving  by  reasons  make  appear 
To  head  what  heart  proclaims  so  clear 
To  heart ;  as  if  by  wit  to  wis 
What  mouth  to  mouth  tells  in  a  kiss, 
Or  in  their  syllogisms  dry 
Freeze  a  swift  glance's  cogency. 
Nay,  but  the  heart's  so  music-fraught, 
Music  is  all  in  love,  words  naught. 
One  heart's  a  rote,  with  music  stored 


HYPSIPYLE  125 

Though  mute  ;  but  two  hearts  make  a  chord 

Of  piercing  music.     One  alone 

Is  nothing  :  two  make  the  full  tone. 

I 

On  Enna's  uplands,  on  a  lea 
Between  the  mountains  and  the  sea, 
Shadowed  anon  by  wandering  cloud, 
Or  flickering  wings  of  birds  a-crowd, 
And  now  all  golden  in  the  sun. 
See  Kore,  see  her  maidens  run 
Hither  and  thither  through  those  hours 
Of  dawn  among  the  wide-eyed  flowers, 
While  gentian,  crocus,  asphodel 
(With  rosy  star  in  each  white  bell), 
Anemone,  blood-red  with  rings 
Of  paler  fire,  that  plant  that  swings 
A  crimson  cluster  in  the  wind 
They  pluck,  or  sit  anon  to  bind 
Of  these  earth-stars  a  coronet 
For  their  smooth-tressed  Queen,  who  yet 
Strays  with  her  darling  interlaced, 
Hypsipyle  the  grave,  the  chaste — 
Her  whose  gray  shadow-life  with  his 
Who  singeth  now  for  ever  is. 

She,  little  slim  thing,  Kore's  mate, 
Child-faced,  gray-eyed,  of  sober  gait, 
Of  burning  mind  and  passion  pent 
To  image-making,  ever  went 
Where  wonned  her  Mistress  ;  for  those  two 


126  HYPSIPYLE 

By  their  hearts'  grace  together  grew, 
The  one  to  need,  the  one  to  give 
(As  women  must  if  they  would  live, 
Who  substance  win  by  waste  of  self 
And  only  spend  to  hoard  their  pelf : 
"  O  heart,  take  all  of  mine  !"     "  O  heart, 
That  which  thou  tak'st  of  thee  is  part — 
No  robbery  therefore  :  mine  is  thine, 
Take  then  !  ")  :  so  she  and  Proserpine 
Intercommunion^  each  bright  day, 
And  when  night  fell  together  lay 
Cradled  in  arms,  or  cheek  to  cheek 
Whispered  the  darkness  out.     Thou  meek 
And  gentle  vision  !  let  me  tell 
Thy  beauties  o'er  I  love  so  well : 
Thy  sweet  low  bosom's  rise  and  fall, 
Pulsing  thy  heart's  clear  madrigal  ; 
Or  how  the  blue  beam  from  thine  eyes 
Imageth  all  love's  urgencies  ; 
Thy  lips'  frail  fragrance,  as  of  flowers 
Remembered  in  penurious  hours 
Of  winter-exile  ;  of  thy  brow, 
Not  written  as  thy  breast  of  snow 
With  love's  faint  charact'ry,  for  his  wing 
Leaves  not  the  heart  long  !     Last  I  sing 
Thy  thin  quick  fingers,  in  whose  pleaching 
Lieth  all  healing,  all  good  teaching — 
Wherewith,  touching  my  discontent, 
I  know  how  thou  art  eloquent ! 
Remember'd  joy,  Hypsipyle  ! 
Now  may  that  serve  to  comfort  me, 


HYPSIPYLE  127 

While  I,  O  Maiden  dedicate, 

Seek  voice  for  singing  thy  gray  Fate  ! 

Now,  as  they  went,  one  heart  in  two, 
Brusht  to  the  knees  by  flowers,  by  dew 
Anointed,  by  the  wind  caressed, 
By  the  light  kissed  on  eyes  and  breast, 
'Twas  Kor£  talked  ;  Hypsipyle 
Listened,  with  eyes  far-set,  for  she 
Of  speech  was  frugal,  voicing  low 
And  rare  her  heart's  deep  underflow — 
Content  to  lie,  like  fallow  sweet 
For  rain  or  sun  to  cherish  it, 
Or  scattered  seed  substance  to  find 
In  her  deep-funded,  quiet  mind. 
And  thus  the  Goddess  :  "  Blest  art  thou, 
Hypsipyle,  who  canst  not  know 
Until  the  hour  strikes  what  must  come 
To  pass  !     But  I  foresee  the  doom 
And  stay  to  meet  it.     Even  here 
The  place,  and  now  the  hour  !  "     Then  fear 
Took  her  who  spake  so  fearless,  cold 
Threaded  her  thronging  veins — behold  ! 
A  hand  on  either  shoulder  stirs 
That  slim,  sweet  body  close  to  hers, 
And  need  fires  need  till,  lip  with  lip, 
They  seal  and  sign  their  fellowship, 
While  Kore,  godhead  all  forgot, 
Clings  whispering,  "  Child,  leave  me  not 
Whenas  to  darkness  and  the  dead 
I  go  !  "     And  clear  the  answer  sped 


128  HYPSIPYLE 

From  warm  mouth  murmuring  kiss  and  cheer, 
"  Never  I  leave  thee,  O  my  dear  ! " 
Thereafter  stand  they  beatingly, 
Not  speaking ;  and  the  hour  draws  nigh. 

And  all  the  land  shows  passing  fair, 
Fair  the  broad  sea,  the  living  air, 
The  misty  mountain-sides,  the  lake 
Flecked  blue  and  purple  !     To  forsake 
These,  and  those  bright  flower-gatherers 
Scattered  about  this  land  of  theirs, 
That  stoop  or  run,  that  kneel  to  pick, 
That  cry  each  other  to  come  quick 
And  see  new  treasure,  unseen  yet ! 
Remembered  joy — ah,  how  forget ! 

But  mark  how  all  must  come  to  pass 
As  was  foreknowledged.     In  the  grass 
Whereas  the  Goddess  and  her  mate 
Stood,  one  and  other,  prompt  for  fate — 
Listless  the  first  and  heavy-eyed, 
Astrain  the  second — she  espied 
That  strange  white  flower,  unseen  before, 
With  chalice  pale,  which  thin  stalk  bore 
And  swung,  as  hanging  by  a  hair, 
So  fine  it  seemed  afloat  in  air, 
Unlinkt  and  wafted  for  the  feast 
Of  some  blest  mystic,  without  priest 
Or  acolyte  to  tender  it  : 
Whereto  the  maid  did  stoop  and  fit 
Her  hand  about  its  silken  cup 


HYPSIPYLE  129 

To  close  it,  that  her  mouth  might  sup 
The  honey-drop  within.     The  bloom 
Saw  Kore  then,  and  knew  her  doom 
Foretold  in  it ;  and  stood  in  tranc£ 
Fixed  and  still.     No  nigromance 
Used  she,  but  read  the  fate  it  bore 
In  seedless  womb  and  petals  frore. 
Chill  blew  the  wind,  waiting  stood  She, 
Waiting  her  mate,  Hypsipyle. 

Then  in  clear  sky  the  thunder  tolled 
Sudden,  and  all  the  mountains  rolled 
The  dreadful  summons  round,  and  still 
Lay  all  the  lands,  only  the  rill 
Made  tinkling  music.     Once  more  drave 
Peal  upon  peal — and  lo  !  a  grave 
Yawned  in  the  Earth,  and  gushing  smoke 
Belched  out,  as  driven,  and  hung,  and  broke 
With  sullen  puff ;  like  tongues  the  flame 
Leapt  following.     Thence  A'ldoneus  came, 
Swart-bearded  king,  with  iron  crown'd, 
In  iron  mailed,  his  chariot  bound 
About  with  iron,  holding  back 
Amain  two  steeds  of  glistering  black 
And  eyeballs  white-rimmed  fearfully, 
And  nostrils  red,  and  crests  flying  free  ; 
Who  held  them  pawing  at  the  verge, 
Tossing  their  spume  up,  as  the  surge 
Flung  high  against  some  seaward  bluff. 
Nothing  he  spake,  or  smooth  or  gruff, 
But  drave  his  errand,  gazing  down 

K 


1 30  HYPSIPYLE 

Upon  the  Maid,  whose  blown  back  gown 

Revealed  her  maiden.     Still  and  proud 

Stood  she  among  her  nymphs,  unbowed 

Her  comely  head,  undimmed  her  eye, 

Inseparate  her  lips  and  dry, 

Facing  his  challenge  of  her  state, 

Neither  denying,  nor  desperate, 

Pleading  no  mercy,  seeing  none, 

Her  wild  heart  masked  in  face  of  stone. 

But  they,  her  bevy,  clustered  thick 

As  huddled  sheep,  set  their  eyes  quick, 

And  held  each  other,  hand  or  waist, 

Paling  or  flushing  as  fear  raced 

Thronging    their    veins  —  they    knew    not, 

they, 
The  gathered  fates  that  broke  this  day, 

And  all  the  land  seemed  passing  fair 
To  one  who  knew,  and  waited  there. 

"  Goddess  and  Maid,"  then  said  the  King, 
"  Long  have  I  sought  this  day  should  bring 
An  end  of  torment.     Know  me  thou 
God  postulant,  with  whom  below 
A  world  awaits  her  queen,  while  here 
I  seek  and  find  one  without  peer  ; 
Nor  deem  her  heedless  nor  unschooled 
In  what  in  Heaven  is  writ  and  ruled. 
Decreed  of  old  my  bride-right  was, 
Decreed  thy  Mother's  pain  and  loss, 
Decreed  thy  loathing,  and  decreed 


HYPSIPYLE  131 

That  which  thou  shunnest  to  be  thy  need  ; 

For  thou  shalt  love  me,  Lady,  yet, 

Though  little  liking  now,  and  fret 

Of  jealous  care  shall  grave  thy  heart 

And  draw  thee  back  when  time's  to  part — 

If  fond  Demeter  have  her  will 

Against  thine  own." 

The  Maid  stood  still 

And  guarded  watched,  and  her  proud  eyes' 
Scrutiny  bade  his  own  advise 
Whether  indeed  their  solemn  stare 
Saw  Destiny  and  read  it  there 
Beyond  her  suitor,  or  within 
Her  own  heart  heard  the  message  ring. 
Awhile  she  gazed  :  her  stern  aspect, 
Young  and  yet  fraught  with  Godhead,  checkt 
Both  Him  who  claimed,  and  her  who'd  cling, 
And  them  who  wondered.     "  O  great  King," 
She  said,  and  mournful  was  her  crying 
As  when  night-winds  set  pine-trees  sighing, 
"  King  of  the  folk  beyond  the  tide 
Of  sleep,  behold  thy  chosen  bride 
Not  shunning  thee,  nor  seeking.     Take 
That  which  Gods  neither  mar  nor  make, 
But  only  They,  the  Three,  who  spin 
The  threads  which  hem  and  mesh  us  in, 
Both  Gods  and  men,  till  she  who  peers 
The  longest  cuts  them  with  her  shears. 
Take,  take,  A'idoneus,  and  take  her, 
My  fosterling." 


1 32  HYPSIPYLE 

Then  He,  "  O  star 
Of  Earth,  O  Beacon  of  my  days, 
Light  of  my  nights,  whose  beamy  rays 
Shall  pierce  the  foggy  cerement 
Wherein  my  dead  grope  and  lament 
Beyond  all  loss  the  loss  of  light, 
Come !  and  be  pleasant  in  my  sight 
This  thy  beloved.     Perchance  she  too 
Shall  find  a  suitor  come  to  woo  ; 
For  love  men  leave  not  with  their  bones — 
That  is  the  soul's,  and  half  atones 
And  half  makes  bitterer  their  loss, 
Remembering  what  their  fortune  was." 

Trembling  Hypsipyle  uplift 
Her  eyes  towards  the  hills,  where  swift 
The  shadows  flew,  but  no  more  fleet 
Than  often  she  with  flying  feet 
And  flying  raiment,  she  with  these 
Her  mates,  whom  now  estranged  she  sees — 
As  if  the  shadow-world  had  spread 
About  her  now,  and  she  was  dead — 
Her  mates  no  more  !  cut  off  by  fear 
From  these  two  fearless  ones.     A  tear 
Welled  up  and  hovered,  hung  a  gem 
Upon  her  eyelid's  dusky  hem, 
As  raindrops  linkt  and  strung  arow 
Broider  with  stars  the  winter  bough. 
This  was  her  requiem  and  farewell 
To  them,  thus  rang  she  her  own  knell ; 
Nor  more  gave  she,  nor  more  asked  they, 
But  took  and  went  the  fairy  way. 


HYPSIPYLE  133 

For  thus  with  unshed  tears  made  blind 
Went  she  :  thus  go  the  fairy  kind 
Whither  fate  driveth  ;  not  as  we 
Who  fight  with  it,  and  deem  us  free 
Therefore,  and  after  pine,  or  strain 
Against  our  prison  bars  in  vain. 
For  to  them  Fate  is  Lord  of  Life 
And  Death,  and  idle  is  a  strife 
With  such  a  master.     They  not  know 
Life  past,  life  coming,  but  life  now  ; 
Nor  back  look  they  to  long,  nor  forth 
To  hope,  but  sup  the  minute's  worth 
With  draught  so  quick  and  keen  that  each 
Moment  gives  more  than  we  could  reach 
In  all  our  term  of  three-score  years, 
Whereof  full  score  we  give  to  fears 
Of  losing  them,  and  other  score 
Dreaming  how  fill  the  twenty  more. 

Now  is  the  hour,  Bride  of  the  Night ! 
The  chariot  turns,  the  great  steeds  fight 
The  rocky  entry  ;  flies  the  dust 
Behind  the  wheels  at  each  fierce  thrust 
Of  giant  shoulder,  at  each  lunge 
Of  giant  haunch.     Down,  down  they  plunge 
Into  the  dark,  with  rioting  mane, 
And  the  earth's  door  shuts-to  again. 
Now  fly,  ye  Oreads,  strain  your  arms, 
Let  eyes  and  hair  voice  your  alarms — 
Hair  blown  back,  mouths  astretch  for  fear, 
Strained  eyeballs — cry  that  Mother  dear 
Her  daughter's  rape  ;  fly  like  the  gale 


i34  HYPSIPYLE 

That  down  the  valleys  drives  the  hail 
In  scurrying  sheets,  and  lays  the  corn 
Flat,  which  when  man  of  woman  born 
Seeth,  he  bows  him  to  the  grass, 
Whispering  in  hush,  The  Oreads  pass. 
(In  shock  he  knows  ye,  and  in  mirth, 
Since  he  is  kindred  of  that  earth 
Which  bore  ye  in  her  secret  stress, 
Images  of  her  loveliness, 
To  her  dear  paramour  the  Wind.) 
Follow  me  now  that  car  behind. 


II 

O  ye  that  know  the  fairy  throng, 
And  heed  their  secret  under-song  ; 
In  flower  or  leaf's  still  ecstasy 
Of  birth  and  bud  their  passion  see, 
In  wind  or  calm,  in  driving  rain 
Or  frozen  snow  discern  them  strain 
To  utter  and  to  be  ;  who  lie 
At  dawn  in  dewy  brakes  to  spy 
The  rapture  of  their  flying  feet- 
Follow  me  now  those  coursers  fleet, 
Sucked  in  their  wake,  down  ruining 
Through  channelled  night,  where  only  sing 
The  shrill  gusts  streaming  through  the  hair 
Of  them  who  sway  and  bend  them  there, 
And  peer  in  vain  with  shielded  eyes 
To  rend  the  dark.     Clinging  it  lies, 
Thick  as  wet  gossamer  that  shrouds 


HYPSIPYLE  135 

October  brushwoods,  or  low  clouds 
That  from  the  mountain  tops  roll  down 
Into  the  lowland  vales,  to  drown 
Men's  voices  and  to  choke  their  breath 
And  make  a  silence  like  to  death. 
But  this  was  hot  and  dry  ;  it  came 
And  smote  them,  like  the  gush  of  flame 
Fanned  in  a  smithy,  that  outpours 
And  floods  with  fire  the  open  doors. 

Downward  their  course  was,  swift  as  flight 
Of  meteor  flaring  through  the  night, 
Steady  and  dreadful,  with  no  sound 
Of  wheels  or  hoofs  upon  the  ground, 
Nor  jolt,  nor  jar  ;  for  once  past  through 
Earth's  portals,  steeds  and  chariot  flew 
On  wings  invisible  and  strong 
And  even-oaring,  such  as  throng 
The  nights  when  birds  of  passage  sweep 
O'er  cities  and  the  folk  asleep  : 
Such  was  their  awful  flight.     Afar 
Showed  Hades  glimmering  like  a  star 
Seen  red  through  fog  :  and  as  they  sped 
To  that,  the  frontiers  of  the  dead 
Revealed  their  sullen  leagues  and  bare, 
And  sad  forms  flitting  here  and  there, 
Or  clustered,  waiting  who  might  come 
Their  empty  ways  with  news  of  home. 
Yet  all  one  course  at  length  must  hold, 
Or  late  or  soon,  and  all  be  tolled 
By  Charon  in  his  dark-prowed  boat. 
Thither  was  swept  the  chariot 


136  HYPSIPYLE 

And  crossed  dry-wheeled  the  coiling  flood 
Of  Styx,  and  o'er  the  willow  wood 
And  slim  gray  poplars  which  do  hem 
The  further  shore,  Hell's  diadem — 
So  by  the  tower  foursquare  and  great 
Where  King  A'fdoneus  keeps  his  state 
And  rules  his  bodyless  thralls  they  stand. 

Dark  ridge  and  hollow  showed  the  land 
Fold  over  fold,  like  waves  of  soot 
Fixt  in  an  anguish  of  pursuit 
For  evermore,  so  far  as  eye 
Could  range  ;  and  all  was  hot  and  dry 
As  furnace  is  which  all  about 
Etna  scorcheth  in  days  of  drouth, 
And  showeth  dun  and  sinister 
That  fair  isle  linked  to  main  so  fair. 
Nor  tree  nor  herbage  grew,  nor  sang 
Water  among  the  rocks  :  hard  rang 
The  heel  on  metal,  or  on  crust 
Grew  tender,  or  went  soft  in  dust ; 
Neither  for  beast  nor  bird  nor  snake 
Was  harbourage  ;  nor  could  such  slake 
Their  thirst,  nor  from  the  bitter  heat 
Hide,  since  the  sun  not  furnished  it ; 
But  airless,  shadowless  and  dense 
The  land  lay  swooning,  dead  to  sense 
Beneath  that  vault  of  stuprous  black, 
Motionless  hanging,  without  wrack 
Of  cloud  to  break  and  pass,  nor  rent 
To  hint  the  blue.     Like  the  foul  tent 


HYPSIPYLE  137 

A  foul  night  makes,  it  sagged  ;  for  stars 
Showed  hopeless  faces,  with  two  scars 
In  each,  their  eyes'  immortal  woe, 
Ever  to  seek  and  never  know  : 
In  all  that  still  immensity 
These  only  moved — these  and  the  sea, 
Which  dun  and  sullen  heaved,  with  surge 
And  swell  unseen,  save  at  the  verge 
Where  fainted  off  the  black  to  gray 
And  showed  such  light  as  on  a  day 
Of  sun's  eclipse  men  tremble  at. 

Here  the  dead  people  moved  or  sat, 
Casting  no  shadow,  hailing  none 
Boldly  ;  but  in  fierce  undertone 
They  plied  each  other,  or  on-sped 
Their  way  with  signal  of  the  head 
For  answer,  or  arms  desperate 
Flung  up,  or  shrug  disconsolate. 
And  this  the  quest  of  every  one  : 
"What    hope    have    ye?"      And    answer, 

"  None." 

Never  passed  shadow  shadow  but 
That  answer  got  to  question  put. 
In  that  they  lived,  in  that,  alas  ! 
Lovely  and  hapless,  Thou  must  pass 
Thy  days,  with  this  for  added  lot — 
Aching,  to  nurse  things  unforgot. 

Remember'd  joy,  Hypsipyle  ! 
The  Oread  choir,  the  Oread  glee  : 


138  HYPSIPYLE 

The  nimble  air  of  quickening  hills, 

The  sweet  dawn  light  that  floods  and  fills 

The  hollowed  valleys  ;  the  dawn  wind 

That  bids  the  world  wake,  and  on  blind 

Eyelids  of  sleeping  mortals  lays 

Cool  palms  that  urge  them  see  and  praise 

The  Day-God  coming  with  the  sun 

To  hearten  toil !     He  warned  you  run 

And  hide  your  beauties  deep  in  brake 

Of  fern  or  briar,  or  reed  of  lake, 

Or  in  wet  crevice  of  the  rock, 

There  to  abide  until  the  clock 

You  reckon  by,  with  shadowy  hands, 

Lay  benediction  on  the  lands 

And  landsmen,  and  the  eve-jar's  croak 

Summon  ye,  lightfoot  fairy  folk, 

To  your  activity  full  tide 

Over  the  empty  earth  and  wide. 

Here  be  your  food,  fair  nymph,  and  coy 

Of  mortal  ken — remember'd  joy  ! 

Remember'd  joy  !     Ah,  stormy  nights, 
Ah,  the  mad  revel  when  wind  fights 
With  wind,  and  slantwise  comes  the  rain 
And  shatters  at  the  window-pane, 
To  wake  the  hind,  who  little  knows 
Whose  fingers  drum  those  passionate  blows, 
Nor  what  swift  indwellers  of  air 
Ye  be  who  hide  in  forms  so  fair 
Your  wayward  motions,  cruel  to  us, 
While  lovely,  and  dispiteous  ! 


HYPSIPYLE  139 

Ah,  nights  of  flying  scud  and  rout 
When  scared  the  slim  young  moon  rides  out 
In  her  lagoon  of  open  sky, 
Or  older,  marks  your  revelry 
As  calm  and  large  she  oars  above 
Your  drifting  lives  of  ruth  or  love. 
Boon  were  those  nights  of  dusted  gold 
And  glint  of  fireflies  !     Boon  the  cold 
And  witching  frost !     All's  one,  all's  one 
To  thee,  whose  nights  and  days  go  on 
Now  in  one  span  of  changeless  dusk 
On  one  earth,  crackling  like  the  husk 
Of  the  dropt  mast  in  winter  wood  : 
Remember'd  joy — 'tis  all  thy  food, 
Hypsipyle,  to  whose  fond  sprite 
I  vow  my  praise  while  I  have  light. 

Dumbly  she  wandered  there,  as  pale 
With  lack  of  light,  with  form  as  frail 
As  those  poor  hollow  congeners 
Whose  searching  eyes  encountered  hers, 
Petitioning  as  mute  as  she 
Some  grain  of  hope,  where  none  might  be, 
Daring  not  yet  to  voice  their  moan 
To  her  whose  case  was  not  their  own  ; 
For  where  they  go  like  breath  in  a  shell 
That  wails,  my  love  goes  quick  in  Hell. 

Alas,  for  her,  the  sweet  and  slim  ! 
Slowly  she  pines  ;  her  eyes  grow  dim 
With  seeking  ;  her  smooth,  sudden  breasts 


1 40  HYPSIPYLE 

Hang  languidly  ;  those  little  nests 
For  kisses  which  her  dimples  were, 
In  cheeks  graved  hollow  now  by  care 
Vanish,  and  sharply  thrusts  her  chin, 
And  sharp  her  bones  of  arm  and  shin. 
Reproach  she  looks,  about,  above, 
Denied  her  light,  denied  her  love, 
Denied  for  what  she  sacrificed, 
Doomed  to  be  fruitless  agonist. 
(O  God,  and  I  must  see  her  fade, 
Must  see  and  anguish — in  my  shade !) 
Nor  help  nor  comfort  gat  she  now 
From  her  whose  need  called  forth  her  vow ; 
For  close  in  arms  Queen  Kore  dwelt 
In  that  great  tower  A'idoneus  built 
To  cherish  her  ;  deep  in  his  bed, 
Loved  as  the  Gods  love  whom  they  wed  ; 
Turned  from  pale  maiden  to  pale  wife, 
Pale  now  with  love's  insatiate  strife 
First  to  appease,  and  then  renew 
The  wild  desire  to  mingle  two 
Natures,  to  long,  to  seek,  to  shun, 
To  have,  to  give,  to  make  two  one 
That  must  be  two  if  they  would  each 
Learn  all  the  lore  that  love  can  teach. 
So  strove  the  mistress,  while  the  maid 
Went  alien  among  the  dead, 
Unspoken,  speaking  none,  but  watcht 
By  them  who  knew  themselves  outmatcht 
By  her,  translated  whole,  nor  guessed 
What  miseries  gnawed  within  that  breast, 


HYPSIPYLE  141 

Which   could   be    toucht,  which  could  give 

meat 

To  babe  ;  which  was  not  eye-deceit 
As  theirs,  poor  phantoms.     So  went  she 
Grudged  but  unscathed  beside  the  sea, 
Or  sat  alone  by  that  sad  strand 
Nursing  her  worn  cheek  in  her  hand  ; 
And  did  not  mark,  as  day  on  day 
Lengthened  the  arch  of  changeless  gray, 
How  she  was  shadowed,  how  to  her 
Stretcht  arms  another  prisoner  ; 
Nor  knew  herself  desirable 
By  any  thankless  guest  of  Hell — 
Withal  each  phantom  seemed  no  less 
Whole-natured  to  her  heedlessness. 

Midway  her  round  of  solitude 
She  used  to  haunt  a  dead  sea-wood 
Where  among  boulders  lifeless  trees 
Stuck  rigid  fingers  to  the  breeze — 
That  stream  of  faint  hot  air  that  flits 
Aimless  at  noon.     'Tis  there  she  sits 
Hour  after  hour,  and  as  a  dove 
Croons  when  her  breast  is  ripe  for  love, 
So  sings  this  exile,  quiet,  sad  chants 
Of  love,  yet  knows  not  what  she  wants  ; 
And  singing  there  in  undertone, 
Is  one  day  answered  by  the  moan 
Of  hidden  mourner  ;  but  no  fear 
Hath  she  for  sound  so  true,  though  near  ; 
Nay,  but  sings  out  her  elegy,  • 


1 42  HYPSIPYLE 

Which,  like  an  echo,  answers  he. 

Again  she  sings  ;  he  suits  her  mood, 

Nor  breaks  upon  her  solitude  : 

So  she,  choragus,  calls  the  tune, 

And  as  she  leads  he  follows  soon. 

As  bird  with  bird  vies  in  the  brake, 

She  sings  no  note  he  will  not  take — 

As  when  she  pleads,  "  Ah,  rrfy  lost  love, 

The  night  is  dark  thou  art  not  of," 

Quick  cometh  answering  the  phrase, 

"  O  love,  let  all  our  nights  be  days  !  " 

This,  rapt,  with  beating  heart,  she  heeds 

And  follows,  "  Sweet  love,  my  heart  bleeds  ! 

Come,  stay  the  wound  thyself  didst  give  "  ; 

Then  he,  "  I  come  to  bid  thee  live." 

And  so  they  carol,  and  her  heart 

Swells  to  believe  his  counterpart, 

And  strophe  striketh  clear,  which  he 

Caps  with  his  brave  antistrophe  ; 

And  as  a  maiden  waxes  bold, 

And  opens  what  should  not  be  told 

When  all  her  auditory  she  sees 

Within  her  mirror,  so  to  trees 

And  rocks,  and  sullen  sounding  main 

She  empties  all  her  passioned  pain  ; 

And  "  love,  love,  love,"  her  burden  is, 

And  "  I  am  starving  for  thee,"  his. 

Moved,  melted,  all  on  fire  she  stands, 

Holding  abroad  her  quivering  hands, 

Raises  her  sweet  eyes  faint  with  tears 

And  dares  to  seek  him  whom  she  hears  ; 


HYPSIPYLE  143 

And  from  her  parted  lips  a  sigh 

Stealeth,  as  knowing  he  is  nigh 

And  her  fate  on  her — then  she'd  shun 

That  which  she  seeks  ;  but  the  thing's  done. 

Hollow-voiced,  dim,  spake  her  a  shade, 
"  O  thou  that  cosiest,  nymph  or  maid — 
If  nymph,  then  maiden,  since  for  aye 
Virgin  is  immortality, 
Nor  love  can  change  what  Death  cannot — 
Look  on  me  by  love  new-begot  ; 
Look  on  me,  child  new-born,  nor  start 
To  see  my  form  who  knowest  my  heart ; 
For  it  is  thine.     O  Mother  and  Wife, 
Take  then  my  love — thou  gavest  it  life  !  " 

So  spake  one  close  :  to  whom  she  lent 
The  wonder  of  her  eyes'  content — 
That  lucent  gray,  as  if  moonlight 
Shone  through  a  sapphire  in  the  night — 
And  saw  him  faintly  imaged,  rare 
As  wisp  of  cloud  on  hillside  bare, 
A  filamental  form,  a  wraith 
Shaped  like  that  man  who  in  the  faith 
Of  one  puts  all  his  hope  :  who  stood 
Trembling  in  her  near  neighbourhood, 
A  thing  of  haunted  eyes,  of  slim 
And  youthful  seeming  ;  yet  not  dim, 
Yet  not  unmanly  in  his  fashion 
Of  speech,  nor  impotent  of  passion — 


I44  HYPSIPYLE 

The  which  his  tones  gave  earnest  of 

And  his  aspect  of  hopeless  love  ; 

Who,  drawing  nearer,  came  to  stand 

So  close  beside  her  that  one  hand 

Lit  on  her  shoulder — yet  no  touch 

She  felt :  "  O  maiden  overmuch," 

He  grieved,  "  O  body  far  too  sweet 

For  such  as  I,  frail  counterfeit 

Of  man,  who  yet  was  once  a  man, 

Cut  off  before  the  midmost  span 

Of  mortal  life  was  but  half  run, 

Or  ere  to  love  he  had  found  one 

Like  thee — yet  happy  in  that  fate, 

That  waiting,  he  is  fortunate  : 

For  better  far  in  Hell  to  fare 

With  thee  than  commerce  otherwhere, 

Sharing  the  snug  and  fat  outlook 

Of  bed  and  board  and  ingle-nook 

With  earth-bound  woman,  earth-born  child. 

Nay,  but  high  love  is  free  and  wild 

And  centreth  not  in  mortal  things  ; 

But  to  the  soul  giveth  he  wings, 

And  with  the  soul  strikes  partnership, 

So  may  two  let  corruption  slip 

And  breasting  level,  with  far  eyes 

Lifted,  seek  haven  in  the  skies, 

Untrammerd  by  the  earthly  mesh. 

O  thou,"  said  he,  "  of  fairy  flesh, 

Immortal  prisoner,  take  of  me 

Love  !   'tis  my  heritage  in  fee  ; 

For  I  am  very  part  thereof, 


HYPSIPYLE  145 

And  share  the  godhead." 

So  his  love 

Pled  he  with  tones  in  love  well-skilled 
Which  on  her  bosom  beat  and  thrilled, 
And  pierced.     No  word  nor  look  she  had 
To  voice  her  heart,  or  sad  or  glad. 
Rapt  stood  she,  wooed  by  eager  word 
And  by  her  need,  whose  cry  she  heard 
Above  his  crying  ;  but  she  guessed 
She  was  desired,  beset,  possessed 
Already,  handfasted  to  sight, 
And  yielding  so,  her  heart  she  plight. 

Thus  was  her  mating  :  of  the  eyes 
And  ears,  and  her  love  half  surmise, 
Detected  by  her  burning  face 
Which  saw,  not  felt,  his  fierce  embrace. 
For  on  her  own  she  knew  no  hand 
When  caging  it  he  seemed  to  stand, 
And  round  her  waist  felt  not  the  warm 
Sheltered  peace  of  the  belting  arm 
She  saw  him  clasp  withal.     When  rained 
His  words  upon  her,  or  eyes  strained 
As  though  her  inmost  shrine  to  pierce 
Where  hid  her  heart  of  hearts,  her  ears 
Conceived,  although  her  body  sweet 
Might  never  feel  a  young  life  beat 
And  leap  within  it.     Ah,  what  cry 
That  mistress  e'er  heard  poet  sigh 
Could  voice  thy  beauty  ?     Or  what  chant 
Of  music  be  thy  ministrant  ? 

L 


146  HYPSIPYLE 

Since  thou  art  Music,  poesy 

Must  both  thy  spouse  and  increase  be  ! 

In  the  hot  dust,  where  lizards  crouch 
And  pant,  he  made  her  bridal  couch  ; 
Thither  down  drew  her  to  his  side 
And,  phantom,  taught  her  to  be  bride 
With  words  so  ardent,  looks  so  hot 
She  needs  must  feel  what  she  had  not, 
Guess  herself  in  beleaguered  bed 
And  throb  response.     Thus  she  was  wed. 
As  she  whom  Zeus  loved  in  a  cloud, 
So  lay  she  in  her  lover's  shroud, 
And  o'er  her  members  crept  the  chill 
We  know  when  mist  creeps  up  a  hill 
Out  of  the  vale  at  eve.     As  grows 
The  ivy,  rooting  as  it  goes, 
In  such  a  quick  close  envelope 
She  lay  aswoon,  nor  guessed  the  scope 
Nor  tether  of  his  hot  intent, 
Nor  what  to  that  inert  she  lent, 
Save  when  at  last  with  half-turned  head 
And  glimmering  eyes,  encompassed 
She  saw  herself,  a  bride  possest 
By  ghostly  bridegroom,  held  and  prest 
To  unfelt  bosom,  saw  his  mouth 
Against  her  own,  which  to  his  drouth 
Gave  no  allay  that  she  could  sense, 
Nor  took  of  her  sweet  recompense. 
So  moved  by  pity,  stirred  by  rue, 
Out  of  their  onslaught  young  love  grew. 


HYPSIPYLE  147 

Love  that  with  delicate  tongues  of  fire 
Can  kindle  hearts  inflamed  desire 
In  her  for  him  who  needed  it ; 
And  so  she  claimed  and  by  eyes'  wit 
Had  what  she  would  :  and  now  made  war, 
Being,  as  all  sweet  women  are, 
Prudes  till  Love  calls  them,  and  then  fierce 
In  love's  high  calling.     Thus  with  her  ears 
She  fed  on  love,  and  to  her  eyes 
Lent  deeds  of  passionate  emprise — 
Till  at  the  last,  the  shadowy  strife 
Ended,  she  owned  herself  all  wife. 


High  mating  of  the  mind  !     O  love, 
Since  this  must  be,  on  this  she  throve  ! 
Remember'd  joy,  Hypsipyle, 
Since  this  must  be,  O  love,  let  be  ! 

1911. 


OREITHYIA 

OREITHYIA,  by  the  North  Wind  carried 
To  stormy  Thrace  from  Athens  where  you 

tarried 

Down  by  Ilissus  all  a  blowy  day 
Among  the  asphodels,  how  rapt  away 
Thither,    and    in    what     frozen    bed    wert 

married  ? 

"  I  was  a  King's  tall  daughter  still  unwed, 
Slim  and  desirable  my  locks  to  shed 
Free  from  the  fillet.     He  my  maiden  belt 
Undid  with  busy  fingers  hid  but  felt, 
And  made  me  wife  upon  no  marriage  bed. 

"  As  idly  there  I  lay  alone  he  came 
And  blew  upon  my  side,  and  beat  a  flame 
Into  my  cheeks,  and  kindled  both  my  eyes. 
I  suffered  him  who  took  no  bodily  guise : 
The   light   clouds   know  whether  I  was  to 
blame. 

"  Into  my  mouth  he  blew  an  amorous  breath  ; 
I  panted,  but  lay  still,  as  quiet  as  death. 
149 


1 5o 


OREITHYIA 


The  whispering  planes  and  sighing  grasses 

know 

Whether  it  was  the  wind  that  loved  me  so  : 
I  know  not — only  this,  c  O  love,'  he  saith, 

" €  O  long  beset  with  love,  and  overloved, 
O  easy  saint,  untempted  and  unproved, 
O  walking  stilly  virgin  ways  in  hiding, 
Come    out,    thou    art    too   choice    for   such 

abiding  ! 
She  never  valued  ease  who  never  roved. 

" '  Thou  mayst  not  see  thy  lover,  but  he  now 
Is  here,  and  claimeth  thy  low  moonlit  brow, 
Thy  wonderful  eyes,  and  lips  that  part  and 

pout, 
And  polished  throat  that  like  a  flower  shoots 

out 
From  thy  dark  vesture  folded  and  crossed 

low.' 

"  With  that  he  had  his  way  and  went  his  way  ; 
For  Gods  have  mastery,  and  a  maiden's  nay 
Grows  faint  ere  it  is  whispered  all.     I  sped 
Homeward  with  startled  face  and  tiptoe  tread, 
And  up  the  stair,  and  in  my  chamber  lay. 

"  Crouching  I  lay  and  quaked,  and  heard  the 

wind 
Wail    round    the   house    like    a   mad   thing 

confined, 


OREITHYIA  151 

And  had  no  rest ;  turn  wheresoever  I  would 
This  urgent  lover  stormed  my  solitude 
And  beat  against  the  haven  of  my  mind. 

"  And  over  all  a  clamour  and  dis-ease 
Filled  earth  and  air,  and  shuddered  in  my 

knees 

So  that  I  could  not  stand,  but  by  the  wall 
Leaned  pitifully  breathing.     Still  his  call 
Volleyed  against  the  house  and  tore  the  trees. 

"  Then  out  my  turret-window  as  I  might 
I  leaned  my  body  to  the  blind  wet  night ; 
That  eager  lover  leapt  me,  circled  round, 
Wreathed,  folded,  held  me  prisoner,   wrapt 

and  bound 
In  manacles  of  terror  and  delight. 

"  That  night  he  sealed  me  to  him,  and  I  went 
Thenceforth  his  leman,  submiss  and  content ; 
So  from  the  hall  and  feast,  whenas  I  heard 
His  clear  voice  call,  I  flitted  like  a  bird 
That  beats  the  brake,  and  garnered  what  he 
lent. 

"  I  was  no  maid  that  was  no  wife  ;  my  days 
Went  by  in  dreams  whose  lights  are  golden 

haze 
And  skies  are  crimson.     Laughing  not,  nor 

crying, 


152  OREITHYIA 

I  strayed  all  witless  with  my  loose  hair  flying, 
Bearing    that  load   that  women   think    their 
praise. 

"  And  felt  my  breasts  grow  heavy  with  that 

food 

That  women  laugh  to  feel  and  think  it  good  ; 
But  I  went  shamefast,  hanging  down  my  head, 
With  girdle  all  too  strait  to  serve  my  stead, 
And  bore  an  unguessed  burden  in  my  blood. 

"  There  was  a  winter  night  he  came  again 
And  shook  the  window,  till   cried  out   my 

pain 

Unto  him,  saying,  *  Lord,  I  dare  not  live  ! 
Lord,  I   must  die  of  that  which  thou  didst 

give  ! 
Pity  me,  Lord  ! '  and  fell.     The  winter  rain 

"  Beat  at  the  casement,  burst  it,  and  the  wind 
Filled  all  the  room,  and  swept  me  white  and 

blind 

Into  the  night.     I  heard  the  sound  of  seas 
Beleaguer  earth,  I  heard  the  roaring  trees 
Singing  together.     We  left  them  far  behind. 

"  And  so  he  bore  me  into  stormy  Thrace, 
Me  and  my  load,  and  kissed  back  to  my  face 
The  sweet  new  blood  of  youth,  and  to  my 
limbs 


OREITHYIA  153 

The  wine  of  life  ;  and  there  I  bore  him  twins, 
Zeihes  and  Calais,  in  a  rock- bound  place." 

Oreithyia,  by  the  North  Wind  carried 

To  stormy  Thrace,  think  you  of  how  you 

tarried 
And  let  him  woo  and  wed  ?     "  Ah,  no,  for 

now 

He's  kissed  all  Athens  from  my  open  brow. 
I  am  the  Wind's  wife,  wooed  and  won  and 

married." 

1897. 


CLYTl£ 

•r 

HEARKEN,  O  passers,  what  thing 

Fortuned  in  Hellas.     A  maid, 

Lissom  and  white  as  the  roe, 

Lived  recess'd  in  a  glade. 

Clyti£,  Hamadryad, 

She  was  called  that  I  sing — 

Flower  so  fair,  so  frail,  that  to  bring  her  a  woe, 

Surely  a  pitiful  thing  ! 

A  wild  bright  creature  of  trees, 

Brooks,  and  the  sun  among  leaves, 

Clytie,  grown  to  be  maid  : 

Ah,  she  had  eyes  like  the  sea's 

Iris  of  green  and  blue  ! 

White  as  sea-foam  her  brows, 

And  her  hair  reedy  and  gold  : 

So  she  grew  and  waxt  supple  and  fit  to  be 

spouse 
In  a  king's  palace  of  old. 

All  in  a  kirtle  of  green, 

With  her  tangle  of  red-gold  hair, 


156  CLYTIE 

In  the  live  heart  of  an  oak, 

Clytie,  harbouring  there, 

Throned  there  as  a  queen, 

Clytie  wondering  woke  : 

Ah,   child,   what  set  thee  too  high  for   thy 

sweet  demesne, 
And  who  ponder'd  the  doleful  stroke  ? 

For  the  child  that  was  maiden  grown, 

The  queen  of  the  forest  places, 

Clytie,  Hamadryad, 

Tired  of  the  joy  she  had, 

And  the  kingdom  that  was  her  own  ; 

And  tired  of  the  quick  wood-races, 

And  joy  of  herself  in   the  pool  when   she 

wonder'd  down, 
And  tired  of  her  budded  graces. 

And  the  child  lookt  up  to  the  Sun 

And  the  burning  track  of  his  car 

In  the  broad  serene  above  her  : 

"  O  King  Sun,  be  thou  my  lover, 

For  my  beauty  is  just  begun. 

I  am  fresh  and  fair  as  a  star  ; 

Come,  lie  where  the  lilies  are  : 

Behold,  I  am  fair  and  dainty  and  white  all  over, 

And  I  waste  in  the  wood  unknown  !  " 

Rose-flusht,  daring,  she  strain'd 
Her  young  arms  up,  and  she  voiced 
The  wild  desire  of  her  heart. 


CLYTIE 


'57 


The  woodland  heard  her,  the  faun, 

The  satyr,  and  things  that  start, 

Peering,    heard    her ;    the    dove,    crooning, 

complain'd 

In  the  pine-tree  by  the  lawn. 
Only  the  runnel  rejoiced 
In  his  rushy  hollow  apart 
To  see  her  beauty  flash  up 
White  and  red  as  the  dawn. 

Sorrow,  ye  passers-by, 

The  quick  lift  of  her  word, 

The  crimson  blush  of  her  pride  ! 

Heard  her  the  heavens'  lord 

In  his  flaming  seat  in  the  sky  : 

"  Overbold    of   her  years    that  will  not  be 

denied  ; 

She  would  be  the  Sun-God's  bride  !  " 
His  brow  it  was  like  the  flat  of  a  sword, 
And  levin  the  glance  of  his  side. 

And  he  bent  unto  her,  and  his  mouth 

Burnt  her  like  coals  of  fire  ; 

He  gazed  with  passionate  eyes, 

Like  flame  that  kindles  and  dries, 

And  his  breath  suckt  hers  as  the  white  rage 

of  the  South 
Draws  life  ;  his  desire 
Was  like  to  a  tiger's  drouth. 
What  shall  the  slim  maiden  avail  ? 
Alas,  and  alas  for  her  youth  ! 


158  CLYTlfi 

Tremble,  O  maids,  that  would  set 

Your  love-longing  to  the  Sun  ! 

For  Clytie  mourn,  and  take  heed 

How  she  loved  her  king  and  did  bleed 

Ere  kissing  had  yet  begun. 

For  lo !  one  shaft  from  his  terrible  eyes  she 

met, 

And  it  burnt  to  her  soul,  and  anon 
She  paled,  and  the  fever-fret 
Did  bite  to  her  bones ;  and  wan 
She  fell  to  rueing  the  deed. 

Mark  ye,  maidens,  and  cower  ! 

Lo,  for  an  end  of  breath, 

Clytie,  hardy  and  frail, 

Anguisht  after  her  death. 

For  the  Sun-flower  droops  and  is  pale 

When  her  king  hideth  his  power, 

And  ever  draggeth  the  woe  of  her  piteous 

tale, 

As  a  woman  that  laboureth 
Yet  never  reacheth  the  hour  : 
So  Clytie  yearns  to  the  Sun,  for  her  wraith 
Moans  in  the  bow'd  sunflower. 

Clyti6,  Hamadryad, 

Called  was  she  that  I  sing  : 

Flower  so  fair   and  frail  that  to  work   her 

this  woe, 
Surely  a  pitiful  thing  ! 

1894. 


LAI  OF  GOBERTZ1 

OF  courteous  Limozin  wight, 

Gobertz,  I  will  indite  : 

From  Poicebot  had  he  his  right 

Of  gentlehood  ; 
Made  monk  in  his  own  despite 
In  San  Leonart  the  white, 
Withal  to  sing  and  to  write 

Cob  las  he  could. 

Learning  had  he,  and  rare 

Music,  and  gat  saber  : 

No  monk  with  him  to  compare 

In  that  monast'ry. 
Full  lusty  he  was  to  bear 
Cowl  and  chaplet  of  hair 
God  willeth  monks  for  to  wear 

For  sanctity. 

There  in  dortoir  as  he  lay, 
To  this  Gobertz,  by  my  fay, 

1  I  owe  the  substance  of  this  lat  to  my  friend  Ezra  Pound,  who 
unearthed  it,  ^a/ud0y  e/Xu/x^a  TroXXfl,  in  some  Provcnjal  repertory. 

159 


160  LAI  OF  GOBERTZ 

Came  fair  women  to  play 

In  his  sleep  ; 

Then  he  had  old  to  pray, 
Fresh  and  silken  came  they, 
With  eyen  saucy  and  gray 

That  set  him  weep. 

May  was  the  month,  and  soft 
The  singing  nights  ;  up  aloft 
The  quarter  moon  swam  and  scoffed 

His  unease. 

Rose  this  Gobertz,  and  doffed 
His  habit,  and  left  that  croft, 
Crying  Eleison  oft 

At  Venus'  knees. 


Heartly  the  road  and  the  town 
Maul£on,  over  the  down, 
Sought  he,  and  the  renown 

Of  Savaric  ; 

To  that  good  knight  he  knelt  down, 
Asking  of  him  in  bown 
Almesse  of  laurel  crown 

For  his  music. 

Fair  him  Savaric  spake, 

"  If  coblas  you  know  to  make, 

Song  and  music  to  wake 

For  your  part, 
Horse  and  lute  shall  you  take 


LAI  OF  GOBERTZ  161 

Of  Jongleur^  lightly  forsake 
Cloister  for  woodland  brake 
With  good  heart." 

Down  the  high  month  of  May 
Now  rideth  Gobertz  his  way 
To  Aix,  to  Puy,  to  Alais, 

To  Albi  the  old  ; 
In  Toulouse  mindeth  to  stay 
With  Count  Simon  the  Gay, 
There  to  abide  what  day 

Love  shall  hold. 

Shrill  riseth  his  song  : 

Cobla,  lai,  or  tenzon, 

None  can  render  him  wrong 

In  that  meinie — 
Love  alone,  that  erelong 
Showed  him  in  all  that  throng 
Of  ladies  Tibors  the  young, 

None  but  she. 

She  was  high-hearted  and  fair, 
Low-breasted,  with  hair 
Gilded,  and  eyes  of  vair 

In  burning  face : 
On  her  Gobertz  astare, 
Looking,  stood  quaking  there 
To  see  so  debonnair 

Hold  her  place. 

M 


1 62  LAI  OF  GOBERTZ 

Proud  donzela  and  free, 
To  clip  nor  to  kiss  had  she 
Talent,  nor  for  minstrelsy 

Was  she  fain  ; 
Mistress  never  would  be, 
Nor  master  have  ;  but  her  fee 
She  vowed  to  sweet  Chastity, 

Her  suzerain. 

Then  this  Gobertz  anon 
Returneth  to  Maul£on, 
To  Savaric  maketh  moan 

On  his  knees. 
Other  pray'r  hath  he  none 
Save  this,  "  Sir,  let  me  begone 
Whence  1  came,  since  fordone 

My  expertise." 

Quod  Savaric,  "  Hast  thou  sped 
So  ill  in  amors  ?  "     Answered 
This  Gobertz,  "  By  my  head, 

She  scorneth  me." 
"  Hauberc  and  arms  then,  instead 
Of  lute  and  begarlanded 
Poll,  take  you,"  he  said, 

"  For  errantry." 

Now  rides  he  out,  a  dubbed  knight, 
The  Spanish  road,  for  to  fight 
Paynimry  ;  day  and  night 
Urgeth  he ; 


LAI  OF  GOBERTZ  163 

In  Saragoza  the  bright, 
And  Pampluna  with  might 
Seeketh  he  what  respite 

For  grief  there  be. 

War-dimmed  grew  his  gear, 
Grim  his  visage  ;  in  fear 
Listened  Mahound  his  cheer 

Deep  in  Hell. 
Fled  his  legions  to  hear 
Gobertz  the  knight  draw  near. 
Now  he  closeth  the  year 

In  Compostell. 

Offering  there  hath  he  made 
Saint  James,  candles  him  paid, 
Gold  on  the  shrine  hath  laid  ; 

Now  Gobertz 

Is  for  Toulouse,  where  that  maid 
Tibors  wonned  unafraid 
Of  Love  and  his  accolade 

That  breaketh  hearts. 

He  rode  north  and  by  east, 
Nor  rider  spared  he  nor  beast, 
Nor  tempered  spur  till  at  least 

Forth  of  Spain  ; 
Not  for  mass-bell  nor  priest, 
For  fast-day  nor  yet  for  feast 
Stayed  he,  till  voyage  ceased 

In  Aquitaine. 


164  LAI  OF  GOBERTZ 

Now  remaineth  to  tell 
What  this  Gobertz  befell 
When  that  he  sought  hostel 

In  his  land. 

Dined  he  well,  drank  he  well, 
Envy  then  had  somedeal 
With  women  free  in  bordel 

For  to  spend. 

In  poor  alberc  goeth  he 
Where  bought  pleasure  may  be, 
Careless  proffereth  fee 

For  his  bliss. 
O  Gobertz,  look  to  thee. 
Such  a  sight  shalt  thou  see 
Will  make  the  red  blood  to  flee 

Thy  heart,  ywis. 

Fair  woman  they  bring  him  in 
Shamefast  in  her  burning  sin, 
All  afire  is  his  skin 

Par  amors. 

Look  not  of  her  look  to  win, 
Dare  not  lift  up  her  chin, 
Gobertz  ;  in  that  soiled  fond  thing 

Lo,  Tibors  ! 

"  O  love,  O  love,  out,  alas  ! 
That  it  should  come  to  this  pass, 
And  thou  be  even  as  I  was 
In  green  youth, 


LAI  OF  GOBERTZ  165 

Whenas  delight  and  solace 
Served  I  with  wantonness, 
And  burned  anon  like  the  grass 
To  this  ruth  !  " 

But  then  lift  she  her  sad  eyes, 
Gray  like  wet  morning  skies, 
That  wait  the  sun  to  arise, 

Tears  to  amend. 
"  Gobertz,  amic"  so  she  cries, 
By  Jesus'  agonies 
Hither  come  I  by  lies 

Of  false  friend. 

"  Sir  Richart  de  Laund  he  hight, 
Who  fair  promised  me  plight 
Of  word  and  ring,  on  a  night 

Of  no  fame  ; 
So  then  evilly  bright 
Had  his  will  and  delight 
Of  me,  and  fled  unrequite 

For  my  shame ! 

"  Alas,  and  now  to  my  thought 
Flieth  the  woe  that  I  wrought 
Thee,  Gobertz,  that  distraught 

Thou  didst  fare. 
Now  a  vile  thing  of  nought 
Fare  I  that  once  was  so  haught 
And  free,  and  could  not  be  taught 

By  thy  care." 


1 66  LAI  OF  GOBERTZ 

But  Gobertz  seeth  no  less 
Her  honour  and  her  sweetness, 
Soon  her  small  hand  to  kiss 

Taketh  he, 

Saying,  "  Now  for  that  stress 
Drave  thee  here  thou  shalt  bless 
God,  for  so  ending  this 

Thy  penury." 

Yet  she  would  bid  him  away, 
Seeking  her  sooth  to  say, 
In  what  woful  array 

She  was  cast. 

"  Nay,"  said  he,  "  but,  sweet  may, 
Here  must  we  bide  until  day  : 
Then  to  church  and  to  pray 

Go  we  fast." 

Now  then  to  all  his  talent, 
Seeing  how  he  was  bent, 
Him  the  comfort  she  lent 

Of  her  mind. 

Cried  Gobertz,  well  content, 
"  If  love  by  dreariment 
Cometh,  that  was  well  spent, 

As  I  find." 

Thereafter  somewhat  they  slept, 
When  to  his  arms  she  had  crept 
For  comfort,  and  freely  wept 
Sin  away. 


LAI  OF  GOBERTZ  167 

Up  betimes  then  he  leapt, 
Calling  her  name  :  forth  she  stept 
Meek,  disposed,  to  accept 
What  he  say. 

By  hill  road  taketh  he  her 

To  the  gray  nuns  of  Beaucaire, 

There  to  shred  off  her  hair 

And  take  veil. 
Himself  to  cloister  will  fare 
Monk  to  be,  with  good  care 
For  their  two  souls.     May  his  pray'r 

Them  avail ! 

1911. 


THE  SAINTS'    MAYING 

SINCE  green  earth  is  awake 
Let  us  now  pastime  take, 
Not  serving  wantonness 
Too  well,  nor  niggardness, 
Which  monks  of  men  would  make. 

But  clothed  like  earth  in  green, 
With  jocund  hearts  and  clean, 
We  will  take  hands  and  go 
Singing  where  quietly  blow 
The  flowers  of  Spring's  demesne. 

The  cuckoo  haileth  loud 
The  open  sky  ;  no  cloud 
Doth  fleck  the  earth's  blue  tent ; 
The  land  laughs,  well  content 
To  put  off"  winter  shroud. 

Now,  since  'tis  Easter  Day, 
All  Christians  may  have  play  ; 
The  young  Saints,  all  agaze 
For  Christ  in  Heaven's  maze, 
May  laugh  who  wont  to  pray. 
169 


i  yo        THE  SAINTS'  MAYING 

Then  welcome  to  our  round 
They  light  on  homely  ground : — 
Agnes,  Saint  Cecily, 
Agatha,  Dorothy, 
Margaret,  Hildegonde  ; 

Next  come  with  Barbara 
Lucy  and  Ursula  ; 
And  last,  queen  of  the  Nine, 
Clear-eyed  Saint  Catherine 
Joyful  arrayeth  her. 

Then  chooseth  each  her  lad, 
And  after  frolic  had 
Of  dance  and  carolling 
And  playing  in  a  ring, 
Seek  all  the  woodland  shade. 

And  there  for  each  his  lass 
Her  man  a  nosegay  has, 
Which  better  than  word  spoken 
Might  stand  to  be  her  token 
And  emblem  of  her  grace. 

For  Cecily,  who  bent 
Her  slim  white  neck  and  went 
To  Heaven  a  virgin  still, 
The  nodding  daffodil, 
That  bends  but  is  not  shent. 

Lucy,  whose  wounded  eyes 
Opened  in  Heaven  star-wise, 


THE  SAINTS'  MAYING         171 

The  lady-smock,  whose  light 
Doth  prank  the  grass  with  white, 
Taketh  for  badge  and  prize. 

Because  for  Lord  Christ's  hest 
Men  shore  thy  warm  bright  breast, 
Agatha,  see  thy  part 
Showed  in  the  burning  heart 
Of  the  white  crocus  best. 

What  fate  was  Barbara's 
Shut  in  the  tower  of  brass, 
We  figure  and  hold  up 
Within  the  stiff  king-cup 
That  crowns  the  meadow  grass. 

Agnes,  than  whose  King  Death 
Stayed  no  more  delicate  breath 
On  earth,  we  give  for  dower 
Wood-sorrel,  that  frail  flower 
That  Spring  first  quickeneth. 

Dorothy,  whose  shrill  voice 
Bade  Heathendom  rejoice, 
The  sweet-breath'd  cowslip  hath  ; 
And  Margaret,  who  in  death 
Saw  Heaven,  her  pearly  choice. 

Then  she  of  virgin  brood 
Whom  Prince  of  Britain  woo'd, 
Ursula,  takes  by  favour 


172        THE  SAINTS'  MAYING 

The  hyacinth  whose  savour 
Enskies  the  sunny  wood. 

Hildegonde,  whose  spirit  high 
The  Cross  did  not  deny, 
Yet  blusht  to  feel  the  shame, 
Anemones  must  claim, 
Whose  roses  early  die. 

Last,  she  who  gave  in  pledge 
Her  neck  to  the  wheel's  edge, 
Taketh  the  fresh  primrose 
Which  (even  as  she  her  foes) 
Redeems  the  wintry  hedge. 

So  garlanded,  entwined, 
Each  as  may  prompt  her  mind, 
The  Saints  renew  for  Earth 
And  Heaven  such  seemly  mirth 
As  God  once  had  design'd. 

And  when  the  day  is  done, 
And  veil'd  the  goodly  Sun, 
Each  man  his  maid  by  right 
Doth  kiss  and  bid  Good-night ; 
And  home  goes  every  one. 

The  maids  to  Heaven  do  hie 
To  serve  God  soberly  ; 
The  lads,  their  loves  in  Heaven, 
What  lowly  work  is  given 
They  do,  to  win  the  sky. 

1896. 


THE   ARGIVE  WOMEN 

CHTHONOE  MYRTILLA 

RHODOPE  PASIPHASSA 

GORGO  SITYS 


SCENE 
The  women's  house  in  the  House  of  Paris  in  Troy. 

TIME.— The  Tenth  year  of  the  War. 


Helen's  women  are  lying  alone  In  the  twilight 
hour.  Chthonoe'  presently  rises  and  throws 
a  little  incense  upon  the  altar  flame.  Then 
she  begins  to  speak  to  the  Image  of  Aphrodite 
in  a  low  and  tired  voice. 

CHTHONOE" 

GODDESS  of  burning  and  little  rest, 
By  the  hand  swaying  on  thy  breast, 
By  glancing  eye  and  slow  sweet  smile 

1  Helen  Redeemed,  the  first  poem  in  this  book,  was  originally 
conceived  as  a  drama.  Here  is  a  scene  from  it,  the  first  after  the 
Prologue,  which  would  have  been  spoken  by  Odysseus.  The  action 
of  the  play  would  have  begun  with  the  entry  of  Helen. 

173 
I 


174        THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN 

Tell  me  what  long  look  or  what  guile 
Of  thine  it  was  that  like  a  spear 
Pierced  her  heart,  who  caged  me  here 
In  this  close  house,  to  be  with  her 
Mistress  at  once  and  prisoner  ! 

Far  from  earth  and  her  pleasant  ways 
I  lie,  whose  nights  are  as  my  days 
In  this  dim  house,  where  on  the  wall 
I  watch  the  shadows  rise  and  fall 
And  know  not  what  is  reckt  or  done 
By  men  and  horses  out  in  the  sun, 
Nor  heed  their  traffic,  nor  their  cheer 
As  forth  they  go  or  back,  but  hear 
The  fountain  plash  into  the  pond, 
The  brooding  doves,  and  sighs  of  fond 
Lovers  whose  lips  yearn  as  they  sever 
For  longer  joy,  joy  such  as  never 
Hath  man  but  in  the  mind.     But  what 
Men  do  without,  that  I  know  not 
Who  see  them  but  as  shadows  thrown 
Upon  a  screen.     I  see  them  blown 
Like  clouds  of  flies  about  the  plain 
Where  the  winds  sweep  them  and  make  vain 
Their  panoplies.     They  hem  the  verge 
Of  this  high  wall  to  guard  us — urge 
Galloping  horses  into  war 
And  meet  in  shock  of  battle,  far 
Below  us  and  our  dreams  :  withal 
Ten  years  have  past  us  in  this  thrall 
Since  Helen  came  with  eyes  agleam 
To  Troy,  and  trod  the  ways  of  dream. 


THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN        175 

GORGO 

Men  came  about  us,  crying,  "  The  Greeks ! 
Ships  out  at  sea  with  high-held  peaks 
Like  questing  birds  !  "     But  I  lay  still 
Kissing,  nor  turned. 

RHODOPE 

So  I,  until 

The  herald  broke  into  my  sleep, 
Crying  Agamemnon  on  the  deep 
With  ships  from  high  Mykenai.     Then 
I  minded  he  was  King  of  Men — 
But  not  of  women  in  the  arms 
They  loved. 

MYRTILLA 

I  heard  their  shrill  alarms 
Faint  and  far  off,  like  an  old  fame. 
Below  this  guarded  house  men  came — 
Chariots  and  horses  clasht ;  they  cried 
King  Agamemnon  in  his  pride, 
Or  Hector,  or  young  Diomede  ; 
But  I  was  kissing,  could  not  heed 
Aught  save  the  eyes  that  held  mine  bound. 
Anon  a  hush — anon  the  sound 
Of  hooves  resistless,  pounding — a  cry, 
"  Achilles  !     Save  yourselves  !  "     But  I — 
Clinging  I  lay,  and  sighed  in  sign 
That  love  must  weary  at  last,  even  mine — 
Even  mine,  Sweetheart ! 


1 76        THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN 

PASIPHASSA 

Who  watcht  when  flared 
Lord  Hector  like  a  meteor,  dared 
The  high  stockade  and  fired  the  ships  ? 
I  watcht  his  lips  who  had  had  my  lips. 

SITYS 

And  when  he  slew  Menoikios'  son, 
Sister,  what  then  ? 

PASIPHASSA 

My  cheek  was  wan 
For  lack  of  kissing — so  I  blew 
On  slumbering  lids  to  draw  anew 
The  eyes  of  him  who  had  loved  me  well, 
But  now  was  faint. 

CHTHONOE 

O  Kypris,  tell 
The  deeds  of  men,  not  lovers  ! 

RHODOPE 

Here 

Came  one  all  palsied  in  his  fear, 
Chattering  and  white,  to  Paris  abed, 
Flusht  in  his  sleep — told  Hector  dead, 
Dead  and  dishonoured,  while  he  slept. 
He  sighed  and  turned.     But  Helen  wept. 


THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN        177 

GORGO 

Not  I.     I  turned  and  felt  warm  draught 
Of  breath  upon  my  cheek,  and  laught 
Softly,  and  snuggling,  slept. 

CHTHONOE 

Fie,  fie  ! 

Goddess,  drugged  in  thy  dreams  we  lie, 
Logs,  not  women,  logs  in  the  sun ! 

SITYS 

Thou  art  sated.     So  fretteth  One, 
The  very  fount  of  Love's  sweet  well, 
The  chord  of  Love  made  visible, 
Sickened  of  her  own  loveliness, 
Haggard  as  hawk  too  long  in  jess, 
Aching  for  flight. 

MYRTILLA 

Recall  the  bout 

When  Paris  armed  him  and  went  out 
Into  the  lists,  and  all  men  thronged 

To  see 

SITYS 

Lord  Paris  and  him  he  wronged 
Fight  for  her,  who  should  have  her  !     We 

stood 
Upon  the  walls,  and  she  with  her  hood 

N 


178        THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN 

Close  to  her  cheek.     But  I  saw  the  flicker 
In  her  blue  eyes  ! 

PASIPHASSA 

But  I  was  quicker, 
And  saw  the  man  she  looked  upon, 
And  after  what  her  blue  eyes  shone 
Like  cyanus  in  morning  light. 

GORGO 

Husband  and  lover  she  saw  fight, 
Man  to  man,  with  death  between. 

RHODOPE 

Hatred  coucht,  as  long  and  lean 

As  a  lone  wolf,  on  her  man's  crest — 

PASIPHASSA 
And  bit  the  Trojan  ! 

CHTHONOE 

Thine  was  the  rest, 
Goddess  !     And  Helen  lit  the  fire, 
With  her  disdain,  of  his  desire. 

MYRTILLA 

Her  eyes  burned  like  the  frosty  stars 
Of  winter  midnight. 


THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN        179 

PASIPHASSA 

His  the  scars  ! 
Bitten  in  his  wax-pale  cheek. 

CHTHONOE 
Nay,  in  his  heart 

SITYS 

Nay,  in  his  bleak 
And  writhen  smile  you  see  it ! 

GORGO 

Nay! 
In  his  sick  soul. 

RHODOPE 

Let  him  go  his  way  ! 
Hear  my  thought  of  a  happier  thing — 
Sparta's  trees  in  flood  of  spring 
Where  Eurotas'  banks  abrim 
Drown  the  reeds,  and  foam-clots  swim 
Like  a  scattered  brood  of  duck  ! 

MYRTILLA 

Flowers  anod  !     White  flowers  to  pluck, 

Stiffened  in  the  foamy  curds  ! 

Ah,  the  green  thickets  quick  with  birds  ! 

SITYS 
Calling  Itys !     Itys  !     Itys  ! 


i8o        THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN 

PASIPHASSA 

She  calls  not  here  —  her  house  it  is 
In  Sparta  ! 

RHODOPE  (with  a  sob} 
Peace  ! 

CHTHONOE 

From  my  heart  a  cry  — 
Send  me  back,  Goddess,  ere  I  die 
To  those  dear  places  and  clean  things  — 
To  see  my  people,  feel  the  wings 
Of  the  gray  night  fold  over  me, 
And  touch  my  mother's  knees,  and  be 
Her  child,  as  long  ago  I  was 
Before  I  lay  burning  in  Ilios  ! 

\They  hide  their  faces  in  their  knees. 
Then  one  by  one  they 


Let  me  sing  an  old  sweet  air, 

Mother  of  Argos,  to  Thee, 

For  hope  in  my  heart  is  fair 

As  light  on  the  hills  seen  from  afar  at  sea  ; 

And  my  weary  eyes  turn  there 

As  to  the  haven  where  my  soul  would  be. 

RHODOPE 

I  will  arise  and  make  choice 
The  house  of  my  tumbled  breast, 
For  she  cometh,  I  hear  the  voice 


THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN        181 

Of  her  wings  of  healing,  and  she  shall  be  my 

guest ; 

And  my  joys  shall  be  her  joys, 
And  my  home  her   home,   O  wind  of  the 

South  West ! 

GORGO 

As  a  bird  that  listens  and  thrills, 

Hidden  deep  in  the  night, 

For  the  sound  of  the  little  rills 

That  run  musically  towards  the  light ; 

As  a  hart  to  the  high  hills 

Turneth  his  dying  eyes,  my  soul  takes  flight. 

MYRTILLA 

Ah,  to  be  folded  deep 

In  the  shade  of  Taygetus, 

In  my  mother's  arms  to  sleep 

Even  as  a  child  when  I  lay  harboured  thus ! 

Oh,  that  I  were  as  thy  sheep, 

Lacedaemon,  my  land,  cradle  and  nurse  of  us  ! 

PASIPHASSA 

In  Argos  they  sow  the  grain, 
In  Troy  blood  is  their  sowing  ; 
There  a  green  mantle  covers  the  plain 
Where  the  sweet  green  corn  and  sweet  short 

grass  are  growing  ; 
But  here  passion  and  pain — 
Blood  and  dust  upon  earth,  and  a  hot  wind 

blowing. 


1 82        THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN 

SlTYS 

To  the  hold  on  the  far  red  hill 
From  the  hold  on  the  wide  green  lea, 
Over  the  running  water,  follow  who  will 
Therapnae's  hawk  with  the  dove  of  Amyklae. 
But  I  would  lie  husht  and  still, 
And  feel  the  new  grass  growing  quick  over 
me  ! 

[The   scene  grows    dark    as    they    sit. 

Their     eyes    are    full   of  tears. 

Presently  one   looks    up,  listening, 

then  another^  then  another.     They 

are  all  alert.~\ 

CHTHONOE 

Who  prayeth  peace  ?     I  feel  her  peace 
Steal  through  me  as  a  quiet  air 
Enters  the  house  with  sweet  increase 
Of  light  to  healing,  praise  to  prayer ! 

RHODOPE 

What  do  I  know  of  guiltiness 
When  she  is  here,  and  with  grave  eyes 
Seeketh  the  ways  of  quietness 
And  lampeth  them  ? 

GORGO 

Arise,  arise ! 

[They  all  stand  waiting."] 


THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN        183 

MYRTILLA 
Hark  !     Her  footfall  like  the  dew — 

PASIPHASSA 

As  a  flower  by  frost  made  sere 
Long  before  the  sun  breaks  through, 
Feeleth  him,  I  know  her  near. 

[Helen  stands  in  the  doorway.'} 

CHTHONOE 

This  is  she,  the  source  of  light, 
Source  of  light  and  end  of  it, 
Argive  Helen,  slim  and  sweet, 
For  whose  bosom  and  delight, 
For  whose  eyes,  those  wells  of  peace, 
Paris  wrought,  as  well  he  might, 
Ten  years'  woe  for  Troy  and  Greece. 

RHODOPE 

Starry  wonder  that  she  was, 
Caged  like  sea-bird  in  his  arms, 
See  her  passion  thrill,  then  pass 
From  him  who,  doting  on  her  charms, 
So  became  abominable. 
Watch  her  bosom  dip  and  swell, 
See  her  nostrils  fan  and  curve 
At  his  touch  who  loved  not  well, 


1 84        THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN 

But  loved  too  much,  who  broke  the  spell ; 
Watch  her  proud  head  stiffen  and  swerve. 

GORGO 

Upon  the  wall  with  claspt  white  hands 

See  her  vigil  keep  intent, 

Argive  Helen,  lo  !  she  stands 

Looking  seaward  where  the  fires 

Hem  the  shore  innumerable  ; 

Sign  of  that  avenging  host, 

All  Achaia's  chivalry, 

Past  the  tongue  of  man  to  tell, 

Peers  and  kindred  of  her  sires 

Come  to  win  back  Helen  lost. 

MYRTILLA 

There  to  her  in  that  gray  hour, 
That  gray  hour  before  the  sun, 
Cometh  he  she  waiteth  for, 
Menelaus  like  a  ghost, 
Like  a  dry  leaf  tempest-tost, 
Stalking  restless,  her  reproach. 

PASIPHASSA 

There  alone,  those  two,  long  severed  been, 
Eye  each  other,  one  wild  heart  between. 

SITYS 

"  O  thou  ruinous  face, 
O  thou  fatally  fair, 


THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN        185 

O  the  pity  of  thee  ! 
What  dost  thou  there, 
Watching  the  madness  of  me  ?  " 

CHTHONOE 

Him  seemed  her  eyes  were  pools  of  dark 
To  drown  him,  yet  no  word  she  spake ; 
But  gazing,  grave  as  a  lonely  house, 
All  her  wonder  thrilled  to  wake. 

RHODOPE 

"  By  thy  roses  and  snow, 
By  thy  sun-litten  hair, 
By  thy  low  bosom  and  slow 
Pondered  kisses,  O  hear  ! 

"  By  thy  glimmering  eyes, 
By  thy  burning  cheek, 
By  thy  murmuring  sighs, 
Speak,  Helen,  O  speak ! 

"  Ruinous  Face,  O  Ruinous  Face, 
Art  thou  come  so  early,"  he  said, 
"  So  early  forth  from  the  wicked  bed  ? " 

GORGO 

Him  she  pondered,  grave  and  still, 
Stirring  not  from  her  safe  place  : 
He  marked  the  glow,  he  felt  the  thrill, 
He  saw  the  dawn  new  in  her  face. 


1 86        THE  ARGIVE  WOMEN 

MYRTILLA 

Within  her  low  voice  wailed  the  tone 
Of  one  who  grieves  and  prays  for  death  : 
"  Lord,  I  am  come  to  be  alone, 
Alone  here  with  my  sorrow,"  she  saith. 

PASIPHASSA 

"  False  wife,  what  pity  was  thine 
For  hearth  and  altar,  for  man  and  child  ? 
What  is  thy  sorrow  worth  unto  mine  ?  " 
She  rocked,  moaning,  "  I  was  beguiled  !  " 

SITYS 

Ten  years'  woe  for  Troy  and  Greece 

By  her  begun,  the  slim,  the  sweet, 

Ended  by  her  in  final  peace 

Of  him  who  loved  her  first  of  all ; 

Nor  ever  swerved  from  his  high  passion, 

But  through  misery  and  shame 

Saw  her  spirit  like  a  flame 

Eloquent  of  her  sacred  fashion — 

Hers  whose  eyes  are  homes  of  light, 

To  which  she  tends,  from  which  she  came. 

1912. 


GNATHO 

GNATHO,  Satyr,  homing  at  dusk. 
Trotting  home  like  a  tired  dog, 
By  mountain  slopes  'twixt  the  junipers 
And  flamed  oleanders  near  the  sea, 
Found  a  girl-child  asleep  in  a  fleece, 
Frail  as  wax,  golden  and  rose  ; 
Whereat  at  first  he  skipt  aside 
And  stayed  him,  nosing  and  peering,  whereto 
Next  he  crept,  softly  breathing, 
Blinking  his  fear.     None  was  there 
To  guard ;  the  sun  had  dipt  in  the  sea, 
Faint  fire  empurpled  the  flow 
Of  heaving  water  ;  no  speck,  no  hint 
Of  oar  or  wing  on  the  main,  on  the  deep 
Sky,  empty  as  a  great  shell, 
Fainting  in  its  own  glory.     This  thing, 
This  rare  breath,  this  miracle — 
Alone  with  him  in  the  world  !     His 
To  wonder,  fall  to,  with  craning  eyes 
Fearfully  daring  ;  next,  since  it  moved  not, 
Stooping,  to  handle,  to  stroke,  to  peer  upon 
Closely,  nosing  its  tender  length, 
187 


1 88  GNATHO 

Doglike  snuffing — at  last  to  kiss 
In  reverence  wonderful,  lightlier  far 
Than  thistledown  falls,  brushing  the  Earth. 
But   the    child    awoke   and,    watching   him, 

cried  not, 

Cruddled  visage,  choppy  hands, 
Blinking  eyes,  red-litten,  astare, 
Horns  and  feet — nay,  crowed  and  strained 
To  reach  this  wonder. 

As  one  a  glass 

Light  as  foam,  hued  like  the  foam, 
A  breath-bubble  of  fire,  will  carry, 
He  in  arms  lifted  his  freight, 
Looking  wonderfully  upon  it 
With  scarce  a  breath,  and  humbleness 
To  be  so  brute  ebbed  to  the  flood 
Of  pride  in  his  new  assured  worth — 
Trusted  so,  who  could  be  vile  ? 

So  to  his  cave  in  the  wood  he  bore  her, 
Fleeting  swift  as  a  fear  thro'  the  dark  trees. 

There  in  the  silence  of  tall  trees, 

Under  the  soaring  shafts, 

Far  beneath  the  canopied  leafage, 

In  the  forest  whisper,  the  thick  silences  ; 

Or  on  the  wastes 

Of  sheltered  mountains  where  the  spires 

Of  solemn  cypress  frame  the  descent 

Upon  the  blue,  and  open  to  sea — 

Here  grew  lanthe  maiden  slim 


GNATHO  189 

With  none  to  spy  but  this  gnarled  man-brute  ; 

Most  fair,  most  hid,  like  a  wood-flower 

Slim  for  lack  of  light ;  so  she  grew 

In  flowering  line  of  limb 

And  flower  of  face,  retired  and  shy, 

Urged  by  the  bland  air  ;  unknown, 

Lonely  and  lovely,  husbanding 

Her  great  possessions — her's  now, 

Another's  when  he  cared  to  claim  them. 

For  thus  went  life  :  to  lead  the  herds 

Of  pricking  deer  she  saw  the  great  stags 

Battle  in  empty  glades,  then  mate  ; 

Thus  on  the  mountains  chose  the  bears, 

And  in  the  woods  she  heard  the  wolves 

Anguishing  in  their  loves 

Thro'  the  dense  nights,  far  in  the  forest. 

And  so  collected  went  she,  and  sure 

Her  time  would  come  and  with  it  her  master. 

But  Gnatho  watcht  her  under  his  brows 
When  she  lay  heedless,  spilling  beauty — 
How  ever  lovelier,  suppler,  sleeker, 
How  more  desirable,  how  near  ; 
How  rightly  his,  how  surely  his — 
Then  gnaw'd  his  cheek  and  turn'd  his  head. 

For  unsuspect,  some  dim  forbidding 
Rose  within  him  and  knockt  at  his  heart 
And  said,  Not  thine,  but  for  reverence. 
And  some  wild  horror  desperate  drove  him, 
Suing  a  pardon  from  unknown  Gods 


190  GNATHO 

For  untold  trespass,  to  seek  the  sea, 
Upon  whose  shore,  to  whose  cool  breathing 
He'd  stretch  his  arms,  broken  with  strife 
Of  self  and  self ;  and  all  that  water 
Steadfast  lapt  and  surged.     Came  tears 
To   furrow    his   cheeks,    came   strength    to 

return 

To  her,  and  bear  with  longer  breath 
Her  sweet  familiarities,  blind 
Obedience  to  nascent  blind  desire — 
Till  again  he  lookt  and  burn'd  again. 

Thus  his  black  ferment  boil'd.     O'  nights 
He'd  dream  and  revel  frenziedly 
As  with  the  love-stung  nymphs.     Awake, 
In  a  chill  sweat,  he'd  tear  at  himself, 
Claw  at  his  flesh  and  leap  in  the  brook, 
Drench  the  red  embers  of  his  vice 
Into  a  mass  abhorred.     Clean  then, 
He'd  seek  his  bed  and  pass  unscath'd 
The  bower  of  fern  where  the  sleek  limbs 
Of  white  lanthe,  mesht  in  her  hair, 
Lay  lax  in  sleep.     But  Gnatho  now 
Saw  only  God,  as  on  some  still  peak 
Snowy  and  lonely  under  the  stars 
We  look,  and  see  God  in  all  that  calm. 

One  night  of  glamour,  under  a  moon 
That  seemed  to  steep  the  air  with  gold, 
They  two  sat  stilly  and  watcht  the  sea 


GNATHO  191 

Tremulously  heaving  over  a  path 
Of  light  like  a  river  of  molten  gold. 
Warm  blew  the  breeze  to  land  ;  she  lean'd 
Her  idle  head,  idly  played 
Her  fingers  in  his  belt,  and  he 
Embracing  held  her,  yielding,  subdued  ; 
Sideways  saw  the  curve  of  her  cheek, 
Downcast  lashes,  droopt  lip 
Which  seem'd  to  court  his  pleasure — 

Then 

On  waves  of  fire  came  racing  his  needs 
With  zest  of  rage  to  possess  and  tear 
That  which  his  frenzy,  maskt  as  love, 
Courted  :  so  he  lean'd  to  her  ear, 
Thrilled  in  torrents  hoarse  his  case — 
"  Love,  I  burn,  I  burn  ! 
Slake  me,  love  !  "     He  raved  in  whisper. 
And  she  lookt  up  with  her  wide  full  eyes, 
Saying,  "  My  love !  "  and  yielded  herself. 

Deep  night  settled  on  hill  and  plain, 
The  moon  went  out,  the  concourse  of  stars 
Lay  strewn  above,  and  with  golden  eyes 
Peered  on  them  lockt.     Far  and  faint 
The  great  stags  belled  ;  far  and  faint 
Quested  the  wolves  ;  the  leopards'  howling 
Lent  desolation  to  night  ;  and  low 
The  night-jar  purr'd.     At  sea  one  light 
Swayed  restlessly,  and  on  the  rocks 
Sounded  the  tireless  lapping  deep. 
Lockt  they  lay  thro'  all  the  silences. 


192  GNATHO 

Dawn  stole  in  with  whimper  of  rain 
And  a  wailing  wind  from  the  sea — 
Gray  sea,  gray  dawn  and  scurrying  clouds 
And  scud  of  rain.     The  fisher  boat, 
The  sands,  the  headlands  fringed  with  broom 
And  tamarisk  were  blotted. 

Alone, 

Caged  in  the  mist  of  earth 
That  beat  his  torment  back  to  himself, 
So  that  in  vain  he  sought  for  the  Gods, 
And  lifted  up  hands  in  vain 
To  witness  this  white  wreck  prone  and  still — 
Gnatho  the  Satyr  blinkt  on  his  work. 

1898-1912. 


TO  THE  GODS  OF  THE 
COUNTRY 

SUN  and  Moon,  shine  upon  me  ; 

Make  glad  my  days  and  clear  my  nights  ! 

O  Earth,  whose  child  I  am, 
Grant  me  thy  patience  ! 

O  Heaven,  whose  heir  I  may  be, 
Keep  quick  my  hope ! 

Your  steadfastness  I  need,  O  Hills  ; 
O  Rain,  thy  kindness  ! 

Snow,  keep  me  pure  ; 

O  Fire,  teach  me  thy  pride ! 

From  you,  ye  Winds,  I  ask  your  blitheness  ! 
1909. 


193 


FOURTEEN  SONNETS 
1896 


195 


ALMA  SDEGNOSA 

NOT  that  dull  spleen  which  serves  i'  the  world 

for  scorn, 

Is  hers  I  watch  from  far  off,  worshipping 
As  in  remote  Chaldaea  the  ancient  king 

Adored  the  star  that  heralded  the  morn. 

Her  proud  content  she  bears  as  a  flag  is  borne 
Tincted  the  hue  royal  ;  or  as  a  wing 
It  lifts  her  soaring,  near  the  daylight  spring, 

Whence,    if  she   lift,    our    days    must    pass 
forlorn. 

The  pure  deriving  of  her  spirit-state 
Is  so  remote  from  men  and  their  believing, 
They  shrink  when  she  is  cold,  and  estimate 
That  hardness  which  is  but  a  God's  dismay  : 
As  when  the  Heaven-sent  sprite  thro'  Hell 

sped  cleaving, 
Only  the  gross  air  checkt  him  on  his  way. 


197 


THE  WINDS'  POSSESSION 

WHEN  winds  blow  high  and  leaves  begin  to 

fall, 

And  the  wan  sunlight  flits  before  the  blast ; 
When  fields  are  brown  and  crops  are  garnered 

all, 
And  rooks,  like  mastered  ships,  drift  wide 

and  fast ; 
Maid  Artemis,  that  feeleth  her  young  blood 

Leap  like  a  freshet  river  for  the  sea, 
Speedeth  abroad  with  hair  blown  in  a  flood 
To  snufFthe  salt  west  wind  and  wanton  free. 

Then  would  you  know  how  brave  she  is,  how 

high 

Her  ancestry,  how  kindred  to  the  wind, 
Mark  but  her  flashing  feet,  her  ravisht  eye 
That  takes  the  boist'rous  weather  and  feels  it 

kind  : 

And  hear  her  eager  voice,  how  tuned  it  is 
To  Autumn's  clarion  shrill  for  Artemis. 


198 


ASPETTO  REALE 

THAT  hour  when  thou  and  Grief  were  first 

acquainted 
Thou  wrotest,  "  Come,  for  I  have  lookt  on 

death/' 

Piteous  I  held  my  indeterminate  breath 
And  sought  thee  out,  and  saw  how  he  had 

painted 
Thine  eyes  with  rings  of  black  ;    yet  never 

fainted 

Thy  radiant  immortality  underneath 
Such  stress  of  dark  ;  but  then,  as  one  that 

saith, 

"  I    know   Love   liveth,"    sat    on    by   death 
untainted. 

O  to  whom  Grief  too  poignant  was  and  dry 
To  sow  in  thee  a  fountain  crop  of  tears  ! 
O  youth,  O  pride,  set  too  remote  and  high 
For  touch  of  solace  that  gives  grace  to  men  ! 
Thy  life  must  be  our  death,  thy  hopes  our 

fears : 
We  weep,  thou  lookest  strangely — we  know 

thee  then  ! 


199 


KIN  CONFESSED 

LONG  loving,  all  our  love  was  husbanded 
Until  one  morning  on  the  brown  hillside, 
One  misty  Autumn  morn  when  Sun  did  hide 
His  radiance,  yet  was  felt.     No   words  we 

said, 

But  in  one  flash  transfigured,  glorified, 
All  her  heart's  tumult  beating  white  and  red, 
She  fell  prone  on  her  face  and  hid  her  wide 
Over-brimmed  eyes  in  dewy  fern. 

I  prayed, 

Then  spake,  "  In  us  two  now  is  manifest 
That  throbbing    kindred   whereof   thou   art 

graft 

And  I  the  grafted,  in  this  holy  place." 
She,  turning  half,  with  sober  shame  confest 
Discovery,  then  hid  her  rosy  face. 
I    read    her    wilding    heart,    and    my   heart 
laught. 


200 


QUEL  GIORNO  Pltl  .  .  . 

THAT  day — it  was  the  last  of  many  days, 
Nor  could  we  know  when  such  days  might 
be  given 

Again — we  read  how  Dante  trod  the  ways 
Of  utmost  Hell,  and  how  his  heart  was  riven 
By  sad  Francesca,  whose  sin  was  forgiven 

So  far  that,  on  her  Paolo  fixing  gaze, 

She    supt    on    his    again,   and    thought    it 
Heaven, 

She  knew  her  gentler  fate  and  felt  it  praise. 

We  read  that  lovers'  tale  ;  each  lookt  at  each  ; 
But  one  was  fearless,  innocent  of  guile  ; 
So  did  the  other  learn  what  she  could  teach  : 
We  read  no  more,  we  kiss'd  not,  but  a  smile 
Of  proud  possession  flasht,  hover'd  a  while 
'Twixt  soul  and  soul.    There  was  no  need  for 
speech. 


201 


ABSENCE 

WHEN  she  had  left  us  but  a  little  while 
Methought   I   sensed   her  spirit  here  and 

there 

About  my  house  :  upon  the  empty  stair 
Her  robe  brusht  softly  ;    o'er  her  chamber 

still 

There  lay  her  fragrant  presence  to  beguile 
Numb  heart,  dead  heart.     I  knelt  before 

her  chair. 

And  praying  felt  her  hand  laid  on  my  hair, 
Felt  her  sweet  breath,  and  guess'd  her  wistful 
smile. 

Then  thro'  my  tears  I  lookt  about  the  room, 
But  she  was  gone.     I  heard  my  heart  beat 

fast  ; 
The  street  was  silent ;  I  could  not  see  her 

now. 

Sorrow  and  I  took  up  our  load,  and  past 
To  where  our  station  was  with  heads  bent  low, 
And  autumn's  death-moan  shiver'd  thro'  the 

gloom. 


202 


PRESENCE 

WHEN  she  had  left  us  but  a  little  while, 
I  still  could  hear  the  ringing  of  her  voice, 

Still  see  athwart  the  dusk  her  shy  half-smile 
And  that  sweet  trust  wherein  I  most  rejoice. 

Then  in  her  self-same  tones  I  heard,  "  Go 
thou, 

Set  to  that  work  appointed  thee  to  do, 
Remembering  I  am  with  thee  here  and  now, 

Watchful  as  ever.   See,  my  eyes  shine  true !  " 

1  lookt,  and  saw  the  concourse  of  clear  stars, 
Steadfast,    of  limpid  candour,   and  could 

discover 

Her  soul  look  on  me  thro'  the  prison-bars 
Which  slunk  like  sin  from  such  an  honest 
Lover  : 

And  thro'  the  vigil-pauses  of  that  night 
She  beam'd  on  me  ;    and    my  soul  felt  her 
light. 


203 


DREAM   ANGUISH 

My  thought  of  thee  is  tortured  in  my  sleep — 
Sometimes  thou  art  near  beside  me,  but  a 

cloud 
Doth  grudge  me  thy  pale  face,  and  rise  to 

creep 

Slowly  about  thee,  to  lap  thee  in  a  shroud  ; 
And  I,  as  standing  by  my  dead,  to  weep 
Desirous,  cannot  weep,  nor  cry  aloud. 
Or  we  must  face  the  clamouring  of  a  crowd 
Hissing  our  shame  ;    and   I   who   ought   to 

keep 
Thine  honour  safe  and  my  betrayed  heart 

proud, 
Knowing  thee  true,  must  watch  a  chill  doubt 

leap 
The   tired   faith   of  thee,    and   thy   head 

bow'd, 

Nor  budge  while  the  gross  world  holdeth  thee 
cheap  ! 

Or    there    are    frost-bound    meetings,    and 
reproach 

204 


DREAM  ANGUISH  205 

At  parting,  furtive  snatches  full  of  fear  ; 
Love  grown  a  pain  ;  we  bleed  to  kiss,  and 

kiss 
Because  we  bleed  for  love ;    the  time  doth 

broach 

Shame,  and  shame  teareth  at  us  till  we  tear 
Our  hearts  to  shreds — yet  wilder  love  for 

this! 


HYMNIA-BEATRIX 

BEFORE  you  pass  and  leave  me  gaunt  and 

chill 

Alone  to  do  what  I  have  joyed  in  doing 
In  your  glad  sight,  suffer  me,  nor  take  ill 
If  I  confess  you  prize  and  me  pursuing. 
As  the  rapt  Tuscan  lifted  up  his  eyes 
Whither  his  Lady  led,  and  lived  with  her, 
Strong  in  her  strength,  and  in  her  wisdom 

wise, 

Love-taught  with  song  to  be  her  thurifer  ; 
So  I,  that  may  no  nearer  stand  than  he 
To  minister  about  the  holy  place, 
Am  well  content  to  watch  my  Heaven  in 

thee 
And  read  my  Credo  in  thy  sacred  face. 

For  even  as  Beatrix  Dante's  wreath  did 

bind, 
So,  Hymnia,  hast  thou  imparadised  my  mind. 


206 


LUX   E   TENEBRIS 

I  THANK  all  Gods  that  I  can  let  thee  go, 
Lady,  without  one  thought,  one  base  desire 
To  tarnish  that  clear  vision  I  gained  by  fire, 

One  stain  in  me  I  would  not  have  thee  know. 

That  is  great  might  indeed  that  moves  me  so 
To  look  upon  thy  Form,  and  yet  aspire 
To  look  not  there,  rather  than  I  should 
mire 

That  winged  Spirit  that  haunts  and  guards 
thy  brow. 

So  now  I  see  thee  go,  secure  in  this 

That  what  I  have  is  thee,  that  whole  of  thee 

Whereof  thy  fair  infashioning  is  sign  : 

For  I  see  Honour,  Love,  and  Wholesomeness, 

And  striving  ever  to  reach  them,  and  to  be 

As  they,  I  keep  thee  still ;  for  they  are  thine. 


207 


DUTY 

OH,  I  am  weak  to  serve  thee  as  I  ought ; 
My  shroud  of  flesh  obscures  thy  deity, 
So  thy  sweet  Spirit  that  should  embolden 

me 
To  shake  my  wings  out  wide,  serves  me  for 

nought, 

But  receives  tarnish,  vile  dishonour,  wrought 
By  that  thou  earnest  to  bless — O  agony 
And  unendurable  shame  !  that,  loving  thee, 
I    dare    not    love,    fearing    my    poisonous 
thought ! 

Man  is  too  vile  for  any  such  high  grace, 
For  that  he  seeks  to  honour  he  can  but  mar  ; 

So  had  I  rather  shun  thy  starry  face 
And  fly  the  exultation  to  know  thee  near — 
For  if  one  glance  from  me  wrought  thee  a 

scar 

'Twould  not  be  death,  but  life  that  I  should 
fear. 


208 


WAGES 

SOMETIMES  the  spirit  that  never  leaves  me 

quite 

Taps  at  my  heart  when  thou  art  in  the  way, 
Saying,  Now  thy  Queen  cometh  :  therefore 

pray, 

Lest  she  should  see  thee  vile,  and  at  the  sight 
Shiver  and  fly  back  piteous  to  the  light 
That  wanes  when  she  is  absent.     Then,  as 

I  may, 

I  wash  my  soiled  hands  and  muttering,  say, 
Lord,  make  me  clean  ;  robe  Thou  me  in  Thy 
white  ! 

So  for  a  brief  space,  clad  in  ecstasy, 
Pure,  disembodied,  I  fall  to  kiss  thy  feet, 
And  sense  thy  glory  throbbing  round  about ; 
Whereafter,  rising,  I  hold  thee  in  a  sweet 
And  gentle  converse  that  lifts  me  up  to  be, 
When  thou  art  gone,  strange  to  the  gross 
world's  rout. 


209 


EYE-SERVICE 

MESEEMS  thine  eyes  are  two  still-folded  lakes 
Wherein  deep  water  reflects  the  guardian 

sky, 

Searching  wherein  I  see  how  Heaven  is  nigh 
And  our  broad  Earth  at  peace.     So  my  Love 

takes 
My  soul's  thin  hands  and,  chafing  them,  she 

makes 
My  life's  blood  lusty  and  my  life's  hope 

high 

For  the  strong  lips  and  eyes  of  Poesy, 
To  hold  the  world  well  squandered  for  their 
sakes. 

I  looked  thee  full  this  day  :  thine  unveiled 

eyes 
Rayed  their  swift-searching  magic  forth  ; 

and  then 

I  felt  all  strength  that  love  can  put  in  men 
Whenas  they  know  that  loveliness  is  wise. 
For  love  can  be  content  with  no  less  prize, 
To  lift  us  up  beyond  our  mortal  ken. 


CLOISTER   THOUGHTS 

(AT  WESTMINSTER) 

WITHIN  these  long  gray  shadows  many  dead 
Lie  waiting  :  we  wait  with  them.     Do  you 

believe 
That  at  the  last  the  threadbare  soul  will 

give 

All  his  shifts  over,  and  stand  dishevelled, 
Naked  in  truth  ?     Then  we  shall  hear  it  said, 
"  Ye  two  have  waited  long,  daring  to  live 
Grimly   through    days    tormented  ;    now 

reprieve 
Awaiteth  you  with  all  these  ancient  dead  ! " 

The  slope  sun  letteth  down  thro'  our  dark 

bars 
His   ladder  from  the  skies.     Hand  fast  in 

hand, 
With  quiet  hearts  and  footsteps  quiet  and 

slow, 

Like  children  venturous  in  an  unknown  land 
We  will  come  to  the  fields  whose  flowers  are 

stars, 
And  kneeling  ask,  "  Lord,  wilt  Thou  crown 

us  now  ?  " 


211 


THE  CHAMBER  IDYLL 

THE  blue  night  falleth,  the  moon 

Is  over  the  hill ;  make  fast, 

Fasten  the  latch,  I  am  tired  :  come  soon, 

Come !  I  would  sleep  at  last 

In  your  bosom,  my  love,  my  love  ! 

The  airy  chamber  above 

Has  the  lattice  ajar,  that  night 

May  breathe  upon  you  and  me,  my  love, 

And  the  moon  bless  our  marriage-rite — 

Come,  lassy,  to  bed,  to  bed  ! 

The  roof-thatch  overhead 

Shall  cover  the  stars'  bright  eyes  ; 

The  fleecy  quilt  shall  be  coverlid 

For  your  meek  virginities, 

And  your  wedding,  my  bride,  my  bride ! 

See,  we  are  side  to  side, 
Virgin  in  deed  and  name — 
Come,  for  love  will  not  be  denied, 
Tarry  not,  have  no  shame  : 
Are  we  not  man  and  bride  ? 

1894. 

213 


EPIGRAMMATA 

1910 


215 


THE  OLD   HOUSE 

Mossy  gray  stands  the  House,  four-square  to 

the  wind, 

Embosomed  in  the  hills.     The  garden  old 
Of  yew  and  box  and    fishpond   speaks  her 

mind, 
Sweet -ordered,    quaint,    recluse,  fold  within 

fold 
Of  quietness ;    but    true    and    choice    and 

kind — 
A  sober  casket  for  a  heart  of  gold. 


BLUE   IRIS 

Blue  is  the  Adrian  sea,  and  darkly  blue 
The  ./Egean  ;  and  the  shafted  sun  thro'  them, 
That  fishes  grope  to,  gives  the  beamy  hue 
Rayed  from  her  iris's  deep  diadem. 


217 


THE  ROSEBUD 

In  June  I  brought  her  roses,  and  she  cupt 
One  slim  bud  in  her  hand  and  cherisht  it, 
And  put  it  to  her  mouth.  Rose  and  she 

supt 
Each  other's  sweetness;  but  the  flower  was 

lit 
By  her  kind  eyes,  and  glowed.     Then  in  her 

breast 
She  laid  it  blushing,  warm  and  doubly  blest. 


SPRING  ON   THE   DOWN 

When  Spring  blows  o'er  the  land,  and  sun- 

light flies 

Across  the  hills,  we  take  the  upland  way. 
I  have  her  waist,  the  wooing  wind  her  eyes 
And  lips  and  cheeks.     His  kissing  makes  her 


As  flowers.     "  Thou  hast  two  lovers,  O  my 

dear," 
Say  I  ;  and  she,  "  He  takes  what  thou  dost 

fear." 


218 


SNOWY   NIGHT 

The   snow   lies   deep,   ice -fringes   hem   the 

thatch  ; 
I   knock  my  shoes,   my   Love  lifts  me  the 

latch, 
Shows   me   her   eyes — O  frozen  stars,  they 

shine 
Kindly  !     I  clasp  her.     Quick !  her  lips  are 

mine. 


EVENING   MOOD 

Late,  when  the  sun  was  smouldering  down 

the  west, 

She  took  my  arm  and  laid  her  cheek  to  me  ; 
The  fainting  twilight  held  her,  and  I  guess'd 
All  she  would  tell,   but  could  not    let    me 

see — 

Wonder  and  joy,  the  rising  of  her  breast, 
And  confidence,  and  still  expectancy. 


219 


THE  PARTING 

Breathless  was  she  and  would  not  have  us 

part  : 
"  Adieu,  my  Saint,"   I  said,   "  'tis   come  to 

this." 

But  she  leaned  to  me,  one  hand  at  her  heart, 
And  all  her  soul  sighed  trembling  in  a  kiss. 


220 


DEDICATION  OF  A  BOOK 

To  the  Fountain  of  my  long  Dream, 
To  the  Chalice  of  all  my  Sorrow, 
To  the  Lamp  held  up,  and  the  Stream 
Of  Light  that  beacons  the  Morrow  ; 

To  the  Bow,  the  Quiver  and  Dart, 
To  the  Bridle-rein,  to  the  Yoke 
Proudly  upborne,  to  the  Heart 
On  Fire,  to  the  Mercy-stroke  ; 

To  Apollo  herding  his  Cattle, 
To  Proserpina  grave  in  Dis  ; 
To  the  high  Head  in  the  Battle, 
And  the  Crown — I  consecrate  this. 

191 1. 


Printrtly  R,  ft  R.  CLARK,  LIMITED,  Edinburgh. 


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